


The Chosen One

by sofia_estrella



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Chaptered, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Drama, Fanfiction, Gen, Novella, POV Multiple, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_estrella/pseuds/sofia_estrella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prophecy refers to a boy born at the end of July.<br/>This could mean either Harry Potter, or Neville Longbottom.<br/>Voldemort chose Harry.<br/>…But what if he had chosen Neville?<br/>What if Neville was the orphan with the lightning scar?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Diagon Alley

“Is that… Neville Longbottom?” 

            “I think it is…”

            “Look! He’s got the scar on his forehead.”

            Neville felt his face grow warm as people stared at him in curiosity and admiration. His grandmother said he was famous—now Neville believed her. His grandmother—dressed in her usual brightly colored and oddly mismatched clothing (not to mention the hideous hat adorned with a stuffed vulture)—led Neville along through Diagon Alley, from store to store. They, and what seemed like the rest of the Wizarding population, were on a back-to-school shopping excursion. 

            Neville would be starting his first year at Hogwarts in the fall. He had been far more excited ten minutes ago, before they had arrived in Diagon Alley. Everyone was shamelessly gawking at him, and discussing him in hushed tones that were still painfully audible. 

            “His parents were killed by You-Know-Who himself.”

            “They say he’s the only one to have survived the Killing Curse…”

            Neville lengthened his strides to keep up with his grandmother, who walked at a surprisingly brisk pace for an old woman. She looked round at the gossiping masses who were staring at her and her grandson. Neville knew what she was going to do as she peered haughtily down her nose. He had no chance of stopping her. It was too late. His only hope was to sulk along, keeping his head down.

            “Yes, this is Neville Longbottom, my own grandson,” his grandmother announced. The crowd fell silent briefly before recommencing with their whispering. Neville felt hundreds of eyes on him—his face must’ve been beet-red. It was difficult to hide with the fabled lightning scar clearly visible down the center of his forehead. He had wanted to grow his hair longer for ages, to hide the scar, but his grandmother insisted on keeping his hair short. And Neville, terrified of his grandmother as he was, knew better than to argue. 

            Neville was looking down at his feet, and ran straight into his grandmother’s plump body. She had stopped in the middle of the street. Neville had a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

            “Watch where you’re going, boy,” she said in an undertone, before turning back to the gathering crowd. “Neville Longbottom,” she said, her voice carrying, “defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was just a year old.” She looked fondly at Neville. “My own grandson.” 

            “We have to go buy my books,” Neville mumbled. “Flourish and Blotts.” 

            “What’s that?” his grandmother said loudly. “Speak up!” She turned to address the onlookers again. “He’s a shy one, bless his heart.” 

            Neville would have given anything for a nice hole to crawl into at the moment. “We have to get my school supplies,” he said. 

            “Yes, yes I know,” she said impatiently. She continued walking again, and Neville followed behind her. The crowd dispersed, parting before the two of them.

            “You’ll have to get a wand,” his grandmother was saying, apparently not noticing that Neville was so far behind her, “and books, of course, and your robes. Maybe you want an owl?” 

            “Can I use my father’s wand?” asked Neville, as they made their way toward Ollivander’s shop. 

            His grandmother stopped dead in her tracks; Neville nearly bumped into her again. 

            “Don’t you want your own wand?” she asked carefully. 

            Neville shrugged. “I like my father’s.”

            “Are you sure?” she said.

            “Yes,” Neville said firmly. His grandmother sighed dramatically and muttered to herself as they changed directions and started toward Madam Malkin’s. 

 

* * *

 

 Harry Potter waved his brand new wand around, imagining colorful jets of light shooting from its tip. He tried to remember the incantations for amusing jinxes his dad and Sirius had told him about…

            “Put that away,” his mum laughed. “Before you hurt yourself.” 

            Harry frowned and looked to his dad for help.

            “You heard your mother,” he said, but winked at Harry. 

            Harry put his wand carefully into his pocket, and ran ahead of his parents, eager to go to the next shop. “Can I get an owl?” he called over his shoulder. He pressed his face against the glass window of the Eeylops Owl Emporium. The birds in the front display looked at Harry with huge, unblinking eyes. Harry giggled and glanced back to his parents who were strolling along the street. They were so _slow_ …

            “An owl, eh?” his dad said, catching up to his son. But Harry spotted a shop up the street and almost squealed with excitement. He sprinted toward it, shoving his way through a group of boys admiring something in the shop’s window.

            Harry finally saw what it was they were looking at—a Firebolt. Only the newest and best broomstick in the entire world. He gazed at it longingly, his hands and nose and forehead up against the glass. This was so much better than a lousy owl. He eventually extricated himself from the crowd and found his parents. 

            “Dad!” Harry shouted, running up to him. “Dad! Dad! Guess what!” 

            His dad reached down and tousled Harry’s untidy, black hair making it even messier. Harry straightened his glasses and peered up at his dad. 

            “What?” his dad said.

            “You have to _guess_ ,” Harry said patiently. 

            His dad made a face. While he thought, his mum began fixing Harry’s hair, trying to smooth it down and tut-ing disapprovingly when his hair refused to be tamed. Harry swatted away her hand, and rumpled his hair again, undoing any progress his mum had managed to make. She exhaled heavily and waited for her husband to venture a guess. 

            “Well,” he said, rubbing his chin in thought, “I reckon this must be about something you saw in the window at Quality Quidditch Supplies…”

            Harry nodded eagerly, but couldn’t wait any longer. “It’s a Firebolt!” he blurted. 

            His dad’s face lit up, and the two of them ran back to the store to look at it together. A short while later, Harry left the shop a proud owner of the latest and greatest in flying technology—the Firebolt. The broom was lovingly wrapped in layers and layers of paper, but Harry still held onto the package with care. His mum shook her head when she saw them. 

            “You didn’t buy a Firebolt, did you, James?”

            “Of course I did!” he said indignantly. “He’ll need it when he’s on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

            Harry beamed at his dad, and hugged the wrapped-up Firebolt to his chest. 

            “You’re not getting an owl,” his mum warned. 

            Harry pouted, counting on his big green eyes to do the talking. His mum stared back at him with her own green eyes—the same as Harry’s—and didn’t falter. Maybe Harry wasn’t as adorable as he thought he was… 

            “Let’s go to Madam Malkin’s and get your school robes,” his mum said abruptly, ending the stare-down. The three Potters continued on down Diagon Alley to the robe shop. 

            “It looks crowded in there,” his dad commented as they drew nearer. 

            “We could go to Flourish and Blotts first,” his mum suggested. Then the door to Malkin’s opened and a boy who Harry recognized to be Neville Longbottom walked out of the door. His face was pink as if he was embarrassed and he was being escorted by an old woman, presumably his grandmother. About twenty other people left the shop on their heels, and trailed them as they continued their shopping. 

            “Neville Longbottom’s in my year?” Harry wondered aloud. 

            His parents were looking at Neville with sympathetic expressions and sad smiles. 

            “Yes,” his dad said absently. “He’s only a day older than you, actually.” 

            “How do you know that?” Harry said suspiciously. 

            “We knew his parents, dear,” his mum said with another sad smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “They were in the Order.” 

            Harry nodded, watching the boy disappear around the corner. “Let’s go get my robes.” 

            He led his parents into the shop; they were suddenly somber after seeing Neville, and were whispering to each other. Harry scowled to himself—he didn’t like it when his parents left him out of things. But he didn’t really want to discuss Neville, the famed Boy-Who-Lived. This day was supposed to be about Harry, and he was determined to keep it that way, no matter how many run-ins with celebrities they had. 

 

* * *

 

 Hermione Granger felt like she was in heaven. She smiled uncontrollably as she looked around the large shop; every surface was covered with books. Her fingers were literally itching to open one up and inhale that glorious new-book scent. She had only found out she was a witch months ago, and knew very little about the Wizarding world. The learning potential from these books was staggering. She felt a little twinge of excitement in her stomach. 

            Hermione was being escorted by a small, stout, bumbling wizard by the name of Mr. Joyce. She had already purchased a wand—ten and three-quarter inches; vine wood; dragon heartstring—and robes, and various other school supplies. It had all been amazing—especially the wand—but Hermione was most excited now, in Flourish and Blotts, around all these books. 

            “I’ll find the required textbooks for class,” Mr. Joyce said, wrenching Hermione back to her senses. “You should look for more books to expand your knowledge of the Wizarding world.”

            Hermione nodded and immediately began looking through the piles of books. She picked up one after another—they all looked so interesting—until her arms were full. She steadied the stack of books with her chin and went to find Mr. Joyce. She was almost to him, when something caught her eye. It was a book, of course; _A History of Magic._ Hermione reached for it, and almost had it when something bumped into her. She stumbled and all her books crashed to the floor. 

            “I’m sorry—really sorry—I’m—” said a voice from behind her. Hermione turned around to see a short boy with a pudgy face (nearly purple from embarrassment) and rather large front teeth. 

            “That’s okay,” Hermione said, cutting across his stammering. “Are you going to Hogwarts?” 

            They knelt to the floor and began gathering Hermione’s books. 

            “Yes, it’s my first year,” the boy said, seeming a little surprised—and relieved. 

            “Mine too,” she grinned. “I’m Hermione Granger.” 

            The boy paused for a long moment, staring at her outstretched hand. Hermione withdrew it quickly, her cheeks burning. 

            “Sorry, I’m Neville. Neville Longbottom,” he muttered. 

            “Nice to meet you, Neville,” Hermione said, reforming her stack of books. “I’ll see you on the Hogwarts Express?” 

            “Okay, see you,” he said, with a forced-looking smile. 

            Hermione smiled again and left to go find Mr. Joyce. He had his own pile of books in his arms, though much smaller than Hermione’s—she was holding about fifteen books. 

            “You want all of those?” he asked tiredly. 

            “Yes,” she said. They made their way to the check-out counter. 

            “That boy you were talking to…” Mr. Joyce began. “Do you know who he is?”

            Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. “Yeah, he’s Neville Longbottom.” 

            He stared at her. “Do you know… who he is?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. 

            “I just met him,” she said slowly. 

            Mr. Joyce’s eyes widened. Hermione frowned—she didn’t like being made to look clueless. 

            “I’m Muggle-born, remember,” she said indignantly. 

            “Yes, I know,” he said, still shaking his head in disbelief. They reached the counter and bought the books, Mr. Joyce apparently speechless at Hermione’s ignorance. 

            When they left the shop, they sat on a bench. Mr. Joyce drew in a deep breath, and began his explanation. 

            “Have you heard of, uh… You-Know-Who?” 

            Hermione was greatly disappointed. “No,” she said fiercely. 

            “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Mr. Joyce continued, a pleading look in his eyes. 

            “Never heard of him,” she replied evenly. 

            He looked over his shoulder, and turned back to her. “Voldemort,” he whispered, actually flinching as he spoke the word. 

            “Voldemort?” Hermione repeated loudly. A couple passersby gasped and threw her a reproachful glance. 

            “Shh!” Mr. Joyce hissed. “You really haven’t heard of him?” 

            “No!” 

            “Read some of those books tonight,” he instructed. “But here’s the gist—You-Know-Who was a very dark wizard. The worst the world has ever seen. But it’s been almost ten years now since he’s died. Or they think he died anyway, they never found a body…” 

            Hermione nodded, urging him on. 

            “He tried to kill that boy you met; Neville Long—”

            “Why would he want to do that?” she gasped in shock. 

            “No one knows. You-Know-You killed Neville’s parents and then tried to kill Neville. But the Killing Curse didn’t work on him. He was a year old at the time and still is the only personto have survived the Killing Curse. So, people say the curse bounced off of Neville and hit You-Know-Who and killed him,” Mr. Joyce finished, visibly shaken. 

            Hermione’s head was spinning. _Voldemort? Killing Curses?_ She would have to start reading up on all this as soon as she got home. There was little she enjoyed less than being uninformed. Hermione remembered the shy, nervous boy and felt very sorry for him. 

            “Neville is very famous now, of course,” added Mr. Joyce. “He was the one who brought down You-Know-Who, after all, something no one else could do.”

            “But… how did he do it?” murmured Hermione. 

            “No one knows,” he said again, then fell silent. “Well, I’m sure your parents are very excited to hear about your day.” 

            Hermione grinned and stood up, heaving her bag of books onto her shoulder. She reluctantly took hold of Mr. Joyce’s arm. She had nearly thrown up the first time she’d Apparated, earlier today, and wasn’t looking forward to doing it again. She shut her eyes tightly, and then felt an incredibly uncomfortable sensation—like she was being squeezed through a small tube. Finally, it was over and she caught her breath and opened her eyes. 

            They were standing in the backyard of her home. Her parents, most likely having heard the loud _crack_ , ran up to the window. They smiled and her dad came to the door and opened it. 

            “Thank you, Mr. Joyce,” said Hermione politely. 

            “My pleasure,” he returned. “Remember—no magic at home! Wait until school.” 

            She nodded dutifully and then Mr. Joyce Disapparated with a rather loud _crack_. Hermione ran into her house, slowed only a little by the load of books on her shoulder. 

            “Mum! Dad!” she cried. “You have to see what I got!”

            She spilled all her books onto the kitchen table, and her dad let out a low whistle. He picked up a beginning Transfiguration textbook and began flipping through it. 

            “Do you have a wand?” her mum asked, her eyes glowing. 

            Hermione pulled the wand out of her pocket.

            “Wow, it’s beautiful!” her mum exclaimed. “Can you show us a spell?” 

            “No, I’m not allowed,” she pouted, stroking the smooth wood of her wand. 

            “What do you want for dinner, sweetie?” her mum said brightly. 

            “I don’t care,” Hermione answered. “I want to start reading these books.” 

            Her parents exchanged a knowing look. Hermione spread out the books on the living room floor and began searching through the indexes. Most of the books referenced Voldemort, though almost all referred to him as You-Know-Who, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Hermione thought this was a little silly. He was dead, after all. Why were people so afraid of him?           

            All the books ten years old or newer had information on Neville Longbottom. Hermione grouped the books and eagerly began to read. 


	2. Hogwarts Express and Sorting

“It only hurts a little.”

            “He’s lying. It’s excruciatingly painful.”

            Ron Weasley tried his best to ignore the taunts of his two older brothers. He stared at the seemingly solid brick wall. Apparently, he had to run through it. Why couldn’t anyone have given him advance warning?

            “Come on,” said his other brother Percy. “Just go, Ron.”

            Ron nodded determinedly, and began charging toward the brick wall, pushing his trunk in front of him. When the trunk hit the wall, Ron expected an impact. But the trunk hadn’t even hit the wall, not really. It had gone right through it, and so had he. He now was standing on another platform. There were hundreds of people milling around, many pushing trunks like Ron was.

            Suddenly Ron was shoved forward and fell painfully onto the cement, skinning his hands. He quickly stood up and looked round to make sure no one had seen him fall. He could already feel the dreaded warmth in his ears; the telltale sign he was blushing. He turned around to see the two Weasley twins smirking at him.

            “Next time, move out of the way, you git,” Fred said. He and George ran off with their trunks in tow to meet Lee Jordan.

            Ron took several steps backward and just in time, for Percy came barreling through the wall next, closely followed my Ron’s parents.

            “Oh, Ronnie,” his mum gushed, giving him a crushing hug. She covered his face with kisses. His ears felt really warm now…

            “Mum!” he said, pushing her away and looking around again to ensure no one had seen.

            “My last son is going off to Hogwarts,” she sniffed, smiling sadly at Ron’s dad. She wiped her eyes—why did she always have to _cry_? About everything!

            “You’ll still have Ginny,” Ron pointed out impatiently.

            His mum looked like she was about to burst into tears at the mention of her little girl. Ron hurriedly said his last goodbye and ran off after Fred and George.

            “Oh! Ronnie!” his mum called after him. “Don’t forget to write!”

            Ron grimaced and kept walking without turning around. He spotted two bright red heads in front of him.

            “Oi! Fred! George!” he yelled. The heads turned around, and the twins frowned upon seeing Ron. They turned again and were soon out of sight. Ron boarded the train, apprehension setting in. He peeked in each room along the way, trying to find somewhere to sit and growing increasingly hopeless. Ron was desperate enough to go in search of Percy when he heard someone addressing him.

            “Hey, you. Oi, ginger!”

            Ron turned around to face a boy he’d never seen before. He was thin with dark hair and slightly crooked glasses.

            “Do you need somewhere to sit?” the boy asked.

            “Er—yeah,” said Ron.

            The boy smiled and led Ron back to an empty compartment. “I’m Harry Potter.”

            “Ron Weasley.”

            “First-year?”

            “Yeah.”

            The compartment was silent for a long moment.

            “So what house do you want to be put in?” Harry asked finally.

            “Gryffindor, I reckon,” Ron replied. Harry’s face lit up.

            “Me too! Both my parents were in Gryffindor, and my godfather and all their friends,” he said cheerfully.

            “All my brothers have been in Gryffindor. And my parents,” Ron said.

            “That’s cool. I’m sure I’ll be in Gryffindor,” Harry said confidently.

            Ron nodded. “Do you know how they sort us?” he asked nervously.

            “With the Sorting Hat, obviously.”

            “A hat?” Ron repeated.

            “Yes, a hat.” Harry rolled his eyes. “How did you think they sorted us?”

            Ron felt his ears heat up. “Well, er, my brothers… told me that, er… we had to fight a troll, or something.”

            Harry stared at him incredulously. “A _troll_?! Come to think of it, I wish we did have to fight a troll. That’d be way more fun than just putting a hat on your head, you know?”

            Ron agreed, though he couldn’t imagine how fighting a troll could ever be ‘fun.’ Just then the compartment door opened and a boy was standing there. Ron’s eyes flicked up to the boy’s forehead, and he did a double take. It couldn’t be… but it was.

            “You’re Neville Longbottom!” Ron blurted.

            Neville’s face turned red and he looked down at his feet and muttered something incoherent.

            “What’s that?” Harry said, looking as though he smelled something disgusting.

            “Can I sit here?” Neville squeaked.

            Ron couldn’t believe his luck. The savior of the Wizarding world wanted to sit with _him_! He struggled to compose himself. “Blimey! Well, of cour—”

            “Actually, these seats are taken,” Harry said bluntly.

            Ron’s jaw literally dropped. He was about to argue, but Harry gave him such a menacing look that Ron snapped his mouth shut immediately. Neville was still standing there, wide-eyed. Harry was twiddling his wand and ignoring him. Ron found his voice again.

            “But—but he’s—” he stammered.

            “The seats. Are taken,” Harry snarled.

            Ron could only stare.

 

* * *

 

Neville Longbottom felt rooted to the spot. He obviously wasn’t welcome here, but his legs wouldn’t work. _C’mon, Neville,_ he thought to himself. _Move. Stop standing here like an idiot._

            “Hey, Neville!” said a cheery voice from behind him.

            The relief felt like cold water rushing over him, as he recognized the girl striding toward him. It was the girl from Flourish and Blotts—Hermione Granger.  The one who didn’t seem to know who he was, or if she did she hadn’t treated him any differently.

            “Hello,” Neville said, finally stepping away from the compartment door. Hermione looked in the room with the two boys and her eyes narrowed.

            “Let’s go find our own compartment,” she announced and led Neville away. They found one that was mostly empty save for a few second-years. Neville felt their eyes on him as he and Hermione sat down next to the window. He heard his name being whispered. Hermione looked at him as if she felt sorry for him.

            “So,” Neville said, clearing his throat, “are you excited for school to start?”

            “Oh, yes,” she said, smiling widely. “And you?”

            “Yeah, I’m… looking forward to it.”  
            There was a long awkward pause, in which Neville could hear more murmuring from the second-years.

            “I’m Muggle-born, you know,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “I found out I was a witch about a year ago.”

 _That explains it_ , Neville thought.

            “I got a letter. An acceptance letter to Hogwarts,” she continued. “I thought it was a joke at first! But then a wizard came to our house and talked to me and my parents and explained everything. I got a lot of books in Diagon Alley and I read all of them…”

            Neville stared at her in awe, remembering the colossal stack of books she had had. Hermione seemed to be giving him a meaningful look. He looked away.

            “…so now I know everything about the Wizarding world,” she said slowly.

 _She knows about me_ , Neville thought. His blood ran cold. He wanted an ordinary conversation with someone, for a change. Someone who didn’t know who he was. So much for that.

            “You were in a lot of the books,” Hermione said carefully. 

            Neville nodded. “So you… know? About me?”

            “Yeah,” she said, gazing out the window. “It’s quite amazing.”

            “I guess,” he grunted, staring at his shoes. She was looking at him again, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

            “You don’t like being famous,” Hermione stated.

            “No, not for that. Not for my parents being killed. Not for something I can’t even remember. Not for—” Neville stopped himself. He was saying things out loud that he had never shared with anyone before. But Hermione looked so understanding. She was a good listener.

            The compartment was silent for several seconds, before Hermione cheerfully changed the subject to something trivial and easy to discuss. Neville gave her a grateful smile.

 

* * *

 

            The train slowed down. Harry Potter strained his neck to see out the window. He could see the Hogwarts castle perched majestically on a hill.

            “We’re here!” he announced to Ron and the rest of the students that had joined them in their compartment. Their heads all whipped around to look out of the window. Harry and Ron hurried off the train, dressed in their school robes.

            “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” bellowed a loud, deep voice, belonging to en enormous man with a long thick beard.

            “That’s Hagrid,” Harry said wisely. “He takes the first years over on the boat.”

            “Does the lake really have a giant squid in it?” Ron asked quietly.

            Harry stared at him. He was so nervous! What was there to be nervous about? As far as Harry was concerned, this was the first day of the best years of his life. He felt nothing but excitement and confidence.

            “I think it does,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

            Ron gulped audibly and the two of them boarded the boat together. Harry saw Neville Longbottom and the girl that had rescued him from further embarrassment on the train ahead of them. He smiled a little cruelly. This had the potential to be a very amusing boat ride.

            “Let’s go over here,” Harry said to Ron. He didn’t argue, and followed Harry over next to Neville and his friend. When she saw them, or more specifically when she saw Harry, she turned her nose up and looked away. Harry grinned. _Very amusing, indeed._

            “So you wouldn’t let Neville Longbottom sit with us on the train, but now _you_ want to sit by _him_?” Ron said incredulously.

            Harry rolled his eyes in answer. Before he could sit next to Neville, another boy stepped in front of him and stole his spot. Harry’s hand moved to the pocket of his robes, ready to grab his wand, though he couldn’t come up with any good jinxes. The boy had white-blond hair, and a pale, sneering face. Harry paused.

            “You’re Neville Longbottom,” the boy said in what sounded like an accusing tone.

            Neville began to stammer a response, but the girl came to his rescue again.

            “Yeah, he is. What’s it to you?” Her eyes flashed as she glared at the blond-haired boy.

            He glanced at her, in obvious amusement. “And you are?”

            “Hermione Granger.”

            He looked back to Neville, apparently not interested in her response. “What’s this?” He pulled a small glass ball out of Neville’s pocket.

            “It’s mine,” Neville said, reaching for it. The blond boy held it higher, out of his reach.

            “What is it?” he repeated, examining the clear glass.

            “It’s a R-r-remembrall,” Neville stuttered.

            “A R-r-remembrall?” the boy mocked.

            “Give it back to him,” Hermione ordered. She had pulled out her wand, and had it pointed at the boy’s face.

            He grinned and drew his own wand. “Violence is not the answer, Granger.” His expression suggested that he, in fact, strongly believed violence w _as_ the answer. Harry was beginning to like the kid.

            Hermione didn’t lower her wand. The boat left the shore and began traveling across the huge, calm lake. Harry and Ron found two empty seats. Hermione and the blond boy were the only two on their feet, still engaged in a stare-down.

            Finally, the boy sighed. “Alright, I’ll give it back to him.”

            Hermione looked mighty pleased with herself. The boy took a couple steps backward, away from her.

            “Catch, Longbottom,” he said before lobbing the Remembrall high into the air. It soared through Neville’s outstretched arms and flew over the side of the boat. It hit the surface of the water with a splash. The blond boy roared in laughter and searched for an empty seat. Harry chuckled to himself and heard Neville whining to Hermione:

            “…now I’ll _never_ remember if I’ve forgotten something!”

            Ron was frowning and shifting in his seat uncomfortably, but Harry ignored him. The blond boy had just chosen a seat near to Harry. He leaned over to him.

            “Nice one,” he said. “I’m Harry Potter.”

            “Draco Malfoy,” the boy said. “I’m assuming you don’t see what all the hype is about, either. About Longbottom, I mean.”

            “Yeah,” Harry agreed. “He didn’t even do anything.”

            Ron gasped beside him. “He killed You-Know-Who!”

            “Does that mean we have to worship him?” Draco challenged. “He was a baby. I’m not going to treat him like royalty because he got lucky.”

            Harry nodded vigorously. He was so glad someone shared his opinions of Neville. Draco understood him. Ron kept silent for the rest of the ride, while Draco and Harry continued bashing Neville: _A Remembrall? Really? He’s so pathetic; that girl has to do all the talking for him. Granger. Is she his girlfriend or something? Nah, he couldn’t get a girlfriend. Not even her. She’s probably his sister. They have different last names. Besides, they don’t look anything alike. Well, they’re both ugly gits. Fair point._

            The boat ride passed quickly and Harry ran off the boat with Draco, Ron trailing behind them. They went into the Great Hall where the rest of the older students were already sitting at their house tables. The first-years congregated in the front of the room. There was a stool set up, and the professors were at the front except one—Harry figured she was McGonagall—who was holding a ratty old hat: The Sorting Hat.

            One professor brushed past Harry on his way to the table in the very front. Harry recognized him with a start.

            “Moony!”

            Remus Lupin spun around, looking very confused. He spotted Harry and smiled.

            “Moony, what are you doing here?” Harry asked, garnering a couple curious looks from his classmates. _That’s right_ , he thought. _I have connections._

            “That’s Professor Lupin to you, Harry,” he said, patting Harry on the head.

            “You teach here?” Harry blurted. He couldn’t believe his luck—one of his dad’s best friends; a Professor! This was going to be a great year.

            “Yes, I do,” Lupin said. “Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

            Harry beamed. “That’s my favorite class!”

            Lupin chuckled. “School hasn’t started yet, how can you already have a favorite class?”

            “I don’t know. It sounds cool.” Harry shrugged. “And you’re the teacher!”

            “Yes, I am. Which means I have to join the other professors now and you have to prepare to be sorted.”

            “Alright! See you, Moo—Professor Lupin.” Harry could not get used to calling Lupin by his last name, let alone the title ‘Professor.’

            Lupin smiled at Harry again and went to the table at the front of the room. Ron and Draco were looking at Harry in curiosity.

            “He’s a friend of my dad’s,” explained Harry before they could ask. The Sorting was beginning and the Great Hall fell silent in anticipation. Harry was completely confident he would be in Gryffindor. Why did he even have to be sorted? Of the students Harry knew by name, Hermione Granger was the first to be sorted. The hat sat for a while on her head, before shouting, “GRYFFINDOR!”

            Harry groaned quietly. How did a prat like that get into his house?

            “Longbottom, Neville,” McGonagall called a couple students later. The Hall fell completely silent before erupting into whispering. Harry tapped his leg impatiently as Neville made his way to the stool. Could he walk any slower?

 

* * *

 

Neville Longbottom approached the stool slowly, very conscious of the whispering surrounding him. He sat down carefully, and the old hat was placed over his head. It slipped down over his eyes and it was very dark inside. He didn’t know what to expect. He jumped when he heard a quiet voice that seemed like it was coming from within his skull.

            “Hmm, Neville Longbottom, are you? I was hoping you’d come to Hogwarts; give me a little peek inside your head…”

            Neville gulped. He didn’t know if he liked a hat being able to see inside his mind…

            “Nothing to be nervous about, Neville,” the voice said. “Just give me a moment… quite difficult this is…”

 _Why is it difficult?_ Neville thought anxiously.

            “Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just… complex. You’re brave, I can tell that.”

 _Brave?_ Neville though incredulously. _I’m not brave!_

            “Modest too, I see. Well, there’s really only one clear choice, and that’s GRYFFINDOR!”

            Neville lifted the brim of the hat and peered out into the Great Hall. The Gryffindor table went wild, and their shouts soon became a steady chant of “Nev-ille! Nev-ille! Nev-ille!”

            He smiled weakly and scurried off to the Gryffindor table. Suddenly there was laughter mingled in with the cheers. He realized he still had the Sorting Hat on his head. His face burned as he ran back to McGonagall and gave her the hat. Then he returned to the Gryffindors; many gave him high-fives and he made his way to Hermione. He sat down beside her and she beamed at him.

            “Good job, Neville. I’m really glad we’re in the same house.”

            “Me too,” he said, relaxing a bit. He saw the blond boy (‘Malfoy, Draco’) from the boat go up to the stool and he tensed again. He saw Hermione’s face harden in dislike. But, as soon as the hat touched his white blond hair, it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!”

            Neville sighed in relief.  With any luck, he’d be able to avoid Malfoy throughout the years. The next student he recognized was the dark-haired boy from the train; ‘Potter, Harry.’

            Neville held his breath when the sorting hat was placed on Harry’s head. There was a quite long pause, and Neville felt his lungs burning from lack of oxygen. Though the brim of the hat was down over Harry’s nose, Neville saw Harry was biting his lip nervously. Neville considered taking a breath, when the Sorting hat came to a decision: “GRYFFINDOR!”

            Neville’s face fell, and Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. Harry sauntered over to the table, looking quite relieved. He high-fived a couple of the upperclassmen before taking a seat.

            The red-haired boy (‘Weasley, Ron’) from the train was also sorted into Gryffindor. Neville had a very bad feeling about this… What if he had to share a dorm with them? The palms of his hands were beginning to feel clammy.

 

* * *

 

Draco Malfoy was still in a state of shock, his mouth slightly open. _Potter’s in… Gryffindor?_ But he seemed like an okay guy! And he looked like he was perfectly happy being sorted where he was.

            This was a difficult situation. This was why you don’t make friends before the Sorting.

            Draco couldn’t be friends with Harry; not anymore, not when they were in rival houses. As a proud Slytherin it was a sacrifice he had to make. _No more associating with Potter_ , he told himself firmly. He felt a little regretful when he remembered how well they were getting along on the boat ride. But surely there’d be plenty of Slytherins that would share Draco’s views on topics ranging from Neville Longbottom (in Gryffindor, as well—figures) to blood-purity and everything else he was strongly opinionated about.

            In fact—

            “I’m Draco Malfoy,” he said to two boys sitting across from him. They appeared to be worthy candidates. Draco didn’t dispense his friendships recklessly, after all… He was a Malfoy and deserved only the best.

            “Vincent Crabbe.”

            “Gregory Goyle.”

            They didn’t seem overly bright, but they were big and burly. _Perfect_ , Draco thought. _Goons. Exactly what I need._

            Just then, Dumbledore stepped up to the podium. Draco crossed his arms, ready to harshly judge whatever the headmaster had to say.

            “Welcome!” Dumbledore cried, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I’d like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”*

            Draco looked at Crabbe and Goyle. They looked fairly confused. The rest of the Great Hall was cheering wildly, and they were clapping their beefy hands slowly. Draco didn’t applaud.

            “That old coot,” he said to the two boys. “Can you believe he’s headmaster? He’s gone senile!”

            Crabbe and Goyle laughed heartily, and agreed with him. Draco couldn’t be happier. He had found two sidekicks to laugh at his jokes and agree with whatever he said. A very successful day. He began to eat the feast, looking forward to tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dumbledore's welcome speech taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone chapter 7.


	3. First Day of School

Remus Lupin looked through his lesson plan one more time. It was his first day as a teacher and he was nervous to say the least, but he was glad his first class was with the first-years. At least he would know one of them—Harry—and that made him feel better.

            Based on his own schooling experience at Hogwarts, he knew that more practical lessons were needed. Hopefully, his first-years would appreciate the one he had set up. No sooner had he opened the door, than Harry ran into the classroom, followed by a less eager red-haired boy.

            “Ready for your first class, Harry?” Lupin asked pleasantly.

            “Yes! What are we doing today?”

            “Well, I can’t _tell_ you…”

            “Please…” Harry begged, his green eyes shining beneath his glasses. It was amazing how much he resembled his parents…

            “You’ll find out soon enough; sit down.”

            Harry sighed and claimed a seat in the front of the classroom, next to the red-haired boy. The desks quickly filled up and all the students were turned attentively toward Lupin. He could get used to this level of respect. He typically didn’t get treated like this because of… circumstances. But he wasn’t going to think about that now.

            “Welcome to your first day and your first class at Hogwarts,” Lupin said calmly. He tried to meet eyes with each and every student, but there were a lot of them. His eyes flickered over one boy, and he quickly looked back to him. Was that… Neville Longbottom? Lupin tore his gaze away from the lightning scar.

            “Defense Against the Dark Arts is a very important subject,” he said quickly, feeling that he was losing their attention already. “This year will give you a good foundation for more advanced topics you’ll cover later on. Today, I would like to start with a practical lesson.”

            The students livened up at the prospect of getting to use their wands—it was supposed to be the first time they’d use them after all, but Lupin wasn’t naïve: Underage magic laws weren’t the easiest to enforce.

            “Something simple; the Knockback Jinx. The incantation is—”

            Lupin pointed his wand at the blackboard and a word was written on it as if by an invisible hand.

            “— _Flipendo_.”

            The first-years murmured the word. “ _Flipendo_.”

            “Exactly. Let me demonstrate.”

            Lupin placed an old jar on his desk and pointed his wand at it. He had to remind himself to verbalize the incantation for teaching purposes; he was accustomed to nonverbal magic.

            “ _Flipendo_ ,” he said clearly. The jar shattered loudly, and several students jumped. Lupin touched his wand to a shard of glass and muttered, “ _Reparo_.” The jar mended itself and was as good as new.

            “Can we learn how to do that?” Harry blurted.

            “Patience,” Lupin chuckled. “The Knockback Jinx blasts inanimate objects, as we’ve just seen, but can also be used on living subjects—”

            “Will they explode too?” Harry said, with too much excitement in his voice at the idea of making people and animals blow up.

            Lupin sighed, irritation setting in. “Please don’t interrupt me, Harry, or you’ll cost Gryffindor some points, and I don’t want to have to do that.”  

            Harry nodded solemnly, but winked at Lupin like he thought it was a joke.

            “As I was saying,” Lupin said loudly, “living subjects will merely be ‘knocked back.’ We are not going to practice this jinx on each other, though—”

            “Why not?”

            “Harry!” Lupin scolded. “You’ve lost your house a point. No more interruptions.”

            Harry looked utterly shocked that Lupin would deduct points from his former house on behalf of his friend’s son. Lupin did feel a bit traitorous, but he had told Harry he would take away points for further interruptions. If he didn’t follow through his threats, he would lose all respect from his students.

            “Anyway,” he began again, shooting Harry a warning glance, “it is too dangerous for inexperienced witches and wizards to point their wands at each other at all, so we’ll be practicing on these.”

            Lupin pulled out a crate of shot-glasses. Perhaps it wasn’t completely school appropriate, but he didn’t want too much broken glass flying around. He passed a glass to each student.

            “Aim in this direction toward the front of the room,” Lupin instructed. “Stop!” he yelled, as Harry raised his wand. “Wait until I’m behind you, please.”

            “Of course, Moony,” Harry grinned.

            The entire class sniggered. Lupin briefly dropped his face into his hands.

            “Remember what I told you last night?” he said quietly to Harry, but it didn’t matter: Everyone was listening.

            “Oh, right,” Harry said, winking again. “Sorry, _Professor_ Lupin.”

            Lupin moved to the back of the room, and glared at the back of Harry’s head for a moment. He was undermining Lupin’s authority. He couldn’t successfully teach when all his pupils called him by his old nickname from when he himself was in school.

            “Okay, you may begin,” Lupin said.

            “ _Flipendo_ ,” the class said, almost in unison. Several spells missed their targets, hitting random objects around the room. Lupin winced. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But there was the distinct sound of glass shattering amidst the chaos.

            “I did it!” cheered a girl. She was a Gryffindor, and standing next to Neville, whose glass remained whole.

            “Well done,” Lupin praised. “Take a point for Gryffindor.”

            The girl beamed. Lupin glanced down at his attendance chart, the pictures of the students next to the names.

            “Hermione Granger,” he read after finding the picture of the girl. She nodded. He pretended to make a note next to her name, and her grin widened. She probably thought he was writing, ‘best first-year student I have ever seen.’ Lupin didn’t feel bad about misleading her. Well, maybe a little. But he was increasing her confidence. _That’s good, right?_

            Lupin went back behind the desks after repairing Hermione’s broken glass. “Try again.”

            Hermione broke hers again. Harry was successful, as was a Slytherin named Draco Malfoy, according to Lupin’s chart. By the end of class, everyone had been able to perform the Knockback Jinx, except for one student: Neville Longbottom.

            In fact, he hadn’t been able to produce the spell at all, even an off-target one. Lupin didn’t want to draw attention to the boy, but he also wanted Neville to succeed. Hell, if he could just tip the glass over on its side Lupin might award him fifty points. Lupin was a little biased toward Gryffindor, naturally, but the poor kid deserved it.

            “Come on, Neville,” Lupin coaxed. “Focus your mind.”

            Neville nodded. He looked slightly nauseous. With the whole class looking on, Neville raised his wand and said, “ _Flipendo_.”

            Something shattered, but it wasn’t the shot-glass.

            “Way to go, Longbottom,” Harry taunted. “You broke Moony’s teacup.”

            Lupin was unsure what to do first—reprimand Harry, reassure Neville, or repair his shattered teacup. Being a teacher was hard. So, he shot Harry a harsh glance (the boy recoiled a little, to Lupin’s delight), gave Neville a small smile and hurried over to his desk. He cleaned up the spilled tea and fixed the broken cup.

            “How did you manage to hit the teacup? That’s, like, four feet off-target. You’re hopeless! How did you defeat Voldemort, anyway? Surely not with magic!”

            Lupin clenched his jaw at Harry’s words. He turned around slowly and saw that Neville’s face was deathly pale. He was more afraid than embarrassed, probably from hearing Voldemort’s name. Draco Malfoy was snickering. Hermione Granger was trembling with rage, her knuckles white from gripping her wand so tightly. Harry looked rather pleased with himself—Lupin resisted the urge to slap the smug look off his face. That would probably get him fired. The rest of the class was wide-eyed, and staring at Lupin to see how he would react.

            Lupin struggled to not raise his voice. He didn’t usually get angry, but when he did... “That’s all for today. Harry—I need to speak with you.”

            Now, Harry’s face turned white. The rest of the class gathered their things in a tense silence.

            “Good job today, everyone,” he said, desperate to lighten the mood. He didn’t want them to think he was overly strict… they’d understand, wouldn’t they? What Harry had said was completely inappropriate and, frankly, cruel. When the two of them were alone in the classroom, Lupin imagined he could hear Harry’s heart pounding. Then he remembered he wasn’t _that_ intimidating… 

            “Harry,” he began heavily. “I’m _very_ disappointed in you.”

            From experience, Lupin knew that line was far more effective than senseless yelling when a child’s done something wrong. _The guilt game—it never fails._

            “Neville has been through a lot and I can’t believe you would be heartless enough to mention Voldemort in front of him.” Lupin had always used Voldemort’s name, ever since his days in the Order of the Phoenix. So did James and Lily and Sirius. Undoubtedly why Harry picked up the habit.

            “I’m sorry,” Harry muttered. “I wasn’t thinking.”

            “Well, think next time,” Lupin snapped. “Be more sensitive to others and for the last time—call me _Professor_. Not Moony.”

            Harry nodded, still avoiding Lupin’s eyes. This would not do…

            “Look at me.”

            Harry glanced up in surprise. Lupin folded his arms and looked at Harry expectantly.

            “I’m sorry, Professor,” he said.

            Lupin smiled. “It’s okay, Harry, just remember what I said. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

            Harry returned the smile and jumped up, heading for the door.

            “Oh, and I’m going to have to take ten points away from Gryffindor. At least ten,” Lupin added, then chuckled. “Stop making me take points from my own house. You think I want to?”

            Harry smiled faintly. “Sorry. See you later, Professor.”

 

* * *

 

Harry ran down the corridors, praying to Merlin he wouldn’t be late for his next class. What had gotten into Lupin? He thought having a family friend as a teacher would be great. And Lupin was usually so cool. Harry hadn’t expected being yelled at on his very first day. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that to Neville… but whatever. It was over.

            Harry caught up with the first-years who were heading to the dungeons for Potions. He popped up next to Draco and Ron and worked to steady his breathing. It had been a long run.

            “Did the old prat give you detention?” Draco asked.

 

            Harry stiffened. “No, Lupin’s cool,” he said defensively. “He just wanted to wish me a good first day.”

            Draco didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. Suddenly, Harry remembered that he was speaking with a Slytherin— simultaneously, Draco seemed to remember that Harry was a Gryffindor. Draco picked up his pace and went to walk with two other Slytherins ahead of him.

            “Why did you say that to Neville?” Ron whispered, once Draco was out of ear-shot.

            “Why do you care?”

            “That was really mean, Harry,” Ron said quietly. Harry rolled his eyes.

            In Potions, Neville managed to mess up the ridiculously easy Boil-Cure potion badly enough to melt his cauldron. The stench was horrible, and kept Harry from making any efforts to further humiliate Neville. Not that he needed any help. He was pretty good at it himself.

            The rest of the day, unfortunately, had no practical lessons. Surprisingly, in Herbology, Neville proved himself to be not entirely incompetent. He answered Professor Sprout’s questions, his hand shooting up into the air even before Hermione, who Harry had learned was a complete kiss-up. Nearly every teacher had praised Neville basically for just existing. It was sickening.

            After dinner, Harry went back to Gryffindor tower with Ron. He sprinted up into their dorm—unfortunately to be shared with Neville, as well at some blokes called Seamus and Dean—and flung open his trunk. He dug down to the bottom where he had put his most valued possession. (Well, second-most-valued since he had obtained a Firebolt.)

            It was his dad’s Invisibility Cloak. He had been waiting for years to sneak around Hogwarts, concealed in it, as his dad used to.

            “What’s that?” said a voice from behind him. It was Ron. “Is that an Invisibility Cloak?”

            “Duh,” Harry said, standing up. “You want to go somewhere with me?”

            “Sure!”Ron said. They went downstairs into the common room again. They sat down on a couch near two red-haired twins—probably Ron’s brothers.

            “We have to wait until it clears out a little,” Harry explained.

            “Where are we gonna go?” Ron asked.

            Harry thought… _the kitchens, maybe?_ But then he knew exactly where he had to go. “Filch’s office.”

            “Filch? Why?”

            “My dad and his friends made a map of Hogwarts when they were in school here. It shows everyone that’s in the school, exactly where they are at the time, and it shows all the secret passages and everything.”

            Harry noticed that the twins had stopped talking and were obviously eavesdropping. Harry lowered his voice.

            “Filch confiscated it ages ago. I want to get it back.”

            “You know about the Marauder’s Map?” asked one of the twins.

            Harry reeled around, startled. “What did you say?”

            “The Marauder’s Map,” he repeated.

            “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,” added the other twin.

            Harry gaped at them. “How do you know about it?”

            “We took it from Filch’s office.”

            “Do you still have it?” Harry demanded

            The twins exchanged a glance. Harry turned to Ron, who looked mildly amused.

            “My brothers Fred and George,” Ron explained.

            “Maybe we have it,” said Fred (or was it George?).

            “Or maybe not,” added George (Fred?).

            “Technically, it’s mine,” Harry growled.

            “Oh, is it?”

            “Yes. My dad made it. He would’ve wanted me to have it.”

            Fred and George looked at each other and Harry wondered if they could communicate telepathically. Finally, one of them pulled out a blank piece of parchment.

            “We’ll share it,” said George.

            “You’ll have to give it back to us whenever we ask for it,” said Fred.

            Harry agreed to their terms, knowing he could worm his way out of it later. He pulled out his wand and glanced over his shoulder: They were alone in the common room. Harry tapped the map with his wand and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

            The parchment came to life, ink spreading and forming into a detailed map of Hogwarts.

            “Well, it’s almost curfew,” Harry said to Ron. “Let’s go.” He folded the map gently and slid it into his pocket.

            “Where are you going?” asked Fred.

            “None of your business,” replied Harry.

            The twins shrugged and went up into the dormitories. Harry led Ron over to the portrait hole, but suddenly it opened. Harry was face-to-face with Hermione Granger. Her expression of surprise quickly turned to dislike.

            “Are you going somewhere? It’s almost curfew.” She put her hands on her hips and scowled at them.

            Harry groaned. “And if I am?”

            “Then I’ll tell a prefect,” she threatened. “Maybe Percy?”

            Ron looked petrified at this, though his brother Percy was really not intimidating. At all. Harry rolled his eyes. The motion hurt a little bit—maybe he had been doing it too often.

            “Get out of the way, Granger,” Harry said tiredly.

            “No!” she said.

            “Don’t make me hex you,” Harry said, hoping it would indeed come to that.

            “You wouldn’t,” she scoffed.

            “Is that a challenge?” Harry found the handle of his wand in his pocket.

            “Yes!” Hermione said fiercely.

            “Fine.” Harry whipped out his wand. “ _Petrificus Totalus_!”

            Hermione fell backward onto the floor, stiff as a board. Her face was frozen in a funny combination of anger and shock. Harry was pleased with the effectiveness of the curse. He had only used it on bugs and an especially unlucky bird previously, with very entertaining results.

            “What did you do to her?” Ron whispered.

            “Just petrified her. She’ll be fine. C’mon, let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Peter Pettigrew jumped at the sound of knocking at his door. He was very jumpy lately. Actually, he had startled easily for the past ten years; ever since Voldemort died. Pettigrew timidly opened the door a crack. It was probably just James or Sirius…

            “Snape?!” Pettigrew blurted. “What are _you_ doing here?”

            Snape’s smile looked more like a sneer. “Nice to see you, too, Wormtail. Can I come in?”

            Pettigrew’s hand automatically found his wand in his pocket. He stepped aside, permitting Snape to enter. His cold black eyes darted around the room.

            “Nice place you’ve got here.” The sarcasm in Snape’s voice was cruelly obvious.

            “What do you want?” Pettigrew snapped.

            “What I came to tell you could very well save your life,” Snape said coolly. “But if you don’t want to hear it…”

            Pettigrew hesitated: Was it a trick? But he _was_ interested in staying alive… “What is it, Snape?” he asked quietly, locking eyes with him.

            “Can I trust you?” Snape smirked. “You have a habit of switching sides… You like to join up with whoever’s winning…”

            Pettigrew kept his expression blank: Snape had hit the nail on the head. “You came here to tell me something,” he growled.

            “Yes, yes, but I want to make sure you won’t run off and tell your Phoenix friends.”

            “I’m a spy!” Pettigrew said defensively. “You know that.”

            “Who are you spying for, exactly?” Snape challenged. “I haven’t heard much from you in ten years.”

            “There’s nothing wrong with staying safe,” Pettigrew muttered. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all these years? Hiding? The Order’s protected me from Azkaban.”

            “True…” Snape said slowly. “But you’ve been helping track down other Death Eaters. Do you deny it?”

            Pettigrew’s blood ran cold. His palms were sweating. Snape had always scared him… “What did you want to tell me?” he said, his voice quavering slightly.

            Snape’s black eyes remained perfectly devoid of emotion as he spoke.  “The Dark Lord is alive.”

            Pettigrew blanched. “That’s—that’s insane! He’s—he’s not—he’s dead! For ten years—dead!” he spluttered.

            Snape shook his head slowly. “He is alive. He came to me; his faithful servant.”

            Pettigrew wouldn’t believe it. “Nonsense… Crazy…”

            “He is alive and gathering strength,” Snape persisted.

            “But—but,” Pettigrew stammered, searching wildly for a loophole. “The Dark Mark!”

            “Haven’t felt it?” he said nonchalantly.

            “You’re mad!”

            “It’s been burning ever so slightly… a shade darker every day.”

            Pettigrew couldn’t believe it—Snape had lost it. Then, suddenly, there was distinct warmth on the inside of his forearm. He froze and slowly rolled up his sleeve… The Mark looked darker than before… But he was just imagining it, wasn’t he?

            “No,” Pettigrew murmured. “It can’t be…”

            “It is. Not good for you, I understand.”

            “Why wouldn’t it be?” Pettigrew said in alarm.

            “Well, I imagine he’s not too happy with you,” Snape said slowly.

            Pettigrew stared, unable to speak.

            Snape sighed impatiently. “Please, Wormtail. Everyone thinks you were a spy for the Order the entire time.”

            “But—but I’m not!” he insisted.

            “Then you’d better make sure the Dark Lord knows that.”

            There was a tense silence for a long time.

            “What would you suggest?” Pettigrew said finally.

            “Prove your loyalty,” Snape replied.

            Pettigrew pretended to understand Snape’s cryptic advice for a second. Then he gave up. “How?”

            Snape groaned as if Pettigrew was extremely thick. “Give the Dark Lord what he wants.”

            Pettigrew continued to stare blankly. He suspected Snape was going out of his way to make him look slow.

            “Honestly, Wormtail. You’re in the Order. You’re a valuable spy, and—unfortunately—we need you,” Snape admitted.

            “Yes, but what am I supposed to do?” he pressed.

            “The Longbottom boy,” Snape said heavily. “Deliver him to the Dark Lord and you may be forgiven.”

            With that, he turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him, and left Pettigrew alone.


	4. Flying, Duelling and Detention

“UP!”

            Neville’s broomstick didn’t move. Hermione’s twitched a little, but Harry’s flew up into his hand immediately. He made it look so _easy_ … Hermione was successful on her second try. As for Neville… not so much. What was the point of flying lessons, anyway? There were other ways to travel. Neville screwed up his face in concentration.

            “Up!” he commanded. The broom jumped about a foot in the air, surprising Neville so much that his concentration broke and the broom fell back to the ground.

            Now Neville was the only one without a broomstick in his or her hand. Why did this always happen to him?

            “Almost,” Hermione encouraged. “Try again.”

            Neville forced the thought of flying from his mind and gave it another shot.

            “Up!”

            The broomstick leapt from the ground and into Neville’s hand. He was so shocked he almost dropped it. Madam Hooch looked immensely relieved and began to explain the actual flying part of it. Neville’s pulse was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear her.

            When it came time for the first-years to attempt lift-off, Harry was in the air immediately, swooping and diving.

            “Show-off,” Hermione muttered bitterly.

            Finally, Harry landed gracefully and hopped off his broom. Madam Hooch actually applauded him.       

            “I assume that wasn’t your first time flying,” she said.

            Harry smiled. “No.”

            “You want to be a Quidditch star like your dad?”

            Harry’s smile widened and he nodded enthusiastically.

            “Well, you’ll have to try out next year,” Hooch said briskly.

            Harry looked as if he had been slapped across the face.

            “He thought he was going to get around the first-year rule,” Hermione smirked, as a couple more students became air-born. Hermione set her jaw and kicked off from the ground. Neville watched her: She was wobbly and clearly uncomfortable in the air. It was somewhat a relief that she wasn’t naturally good at _everything_. Hermione quickly returned to the ground, landing clumsily.

            “I did _not_ like that,” she commented. “Not at all.”

_Thanks_ , Neville thought. _That makes me feel better._ Just then, Ron Weasley crashed into Draco Malfoy and both of them fell a ways to the ground. Neville distinctly heard Draco threatening Ron:

            “You wait until my father hears about this…”

            They were led up to the hospital wing, despite their protests that they were fine. Draco muttered something to Ron that sounded a lot like “filthy blood-traitor.”

            By the end of the chaotic class period, no one seemed to have noticed Neville hadn’t left the ground, and he wasn’t about to point this out to anyone.

            The first-years set out from the Quidditch pitch back up to the castle. Harry was walking in front of Neville and Hermione, and complaining to anyone who’d listen.

            “I’m telling you, they’ll regret this first-year rule. I should really be an exception, anyway. You know, I’ll have my dad talk to Dumbledore about it. I mean, the team _needs_ me. I have a Firebolt!”

            Hermione was muttering to herself. Neville caught only a couple of words, among them; “spoiled… arrogant… _Potter_ … disgusting…”

            Suddenly, her grumpy muttering was interrupted. Hermione shrieked and stumbled backward, stepping on Neville’s toes. He looked around her. She had been walking near to a clump of tall grass and bushes. Then Neville spotted what the commotion was about. There was a small snake on the ground, looking up at Hermione and flicking its tongue curiously.

            “Go on,” Neville said to the snake, kicking at it with his feet. It looked up at Neville. “Go away. Shoo!”

            The snake turned around and slithered back into the brush, out of sight. Neville noticed that Hermione was staring at him, wide-eyed. The rest of the class had similar expressions of shock, and… fear. Neville felt his face heat up. It was one thing to embarrass himself and he did that all the time. But now he didn’t even know what he had done to deserve the unwanted attention. Surely that was a new low, even for Neville.

            “You’re a Parselmouth?” Harry said suddenly, glaring at Neville.

            Neville was too confused to answer. _A Parselmouth?_ He wasn’t a Parselmouth! His hesitation gave Harry the chance to continue.

            “Really, it’s beyond me how you’re in Gryffindor. Not only are you a cowardly git, but you’re a bloody Parselmouth!”

            Hermione’s wand was out before Neville knew what was going on.

            “ _Flipendo_!” she cried, knocking Harry backward with surprising force. He scrambled to his feet, his own wand out. There was a small pause, before Harry fired his own Knockback Jinx, which missed Hermione. They threw jinxes and hexes back and forth, skillfully dodging and blocking them.

            Dean Thomas, an innocent bystander, was hit by a rogue Jelly-Legs Jinx. He yelped and fell to the ground. Neville and the rest of the first-years moved further away from Harry and Hermione. Seamus Finnegan dragged Dean along with him. Suddenly, Hermione was in the air, upside-down. She shrieked and still continued hurling jinxes in Harry’s general direction, all of which he dodged easily.

            Finally, Professor Sprout ran, or rather waddled, rather, out from the greenhouses and disarmed them both. Hermione fell to the ground with a moan.

 

* * *

 

Hermione Granger arrived in Professor Lupin’s office five minutes before the detention was scheduled to begin. She and Harry would be helping Lupin do something (the only professor who needed any assistance this early in the year), most likely busy-work, and probably write some lines of, “I will not duel,” though Harry should write, “I will not be an insufferable, arrogant, bullying jerk,” a few thousand times. Hermione thought that might rub the message into his thick skull. To her surprise, Harry was already in the office when she arrived. She thought she was the only person who would ever show up early to detention…

            “You two certainly are punctual,” Lupin commented, checking his watch. “Well, let’s get started.”

            Hermione glared at Harry when he looked at her. He returned the favor. They positioned themselves on opposite ends of the classroom and began to go through boxes of homework assignments, sorting them by year and house. Hermione sighed tiredly. She had thought Lupin was more organized than to just dump the papers from all his classes into boxes.

            “Mind if I ask what you two dueled over?” Lupin said casually.

            “Potter was picking on Neville,” Hermione spat, wanting to make sure Lupin got her side of the story and not whatever twisted version of events Harry would likely relate.

            Lupin sighed heavily and turned to him.

            “Did you know Longbottom’s a Parselmouth?” Harry said quickly.

            Confusion crossed Lupin’s eyes. “That’s no reason to pick on him.

            Harry shrugged dismissively and picked up a piece of parchment. “Eh, Moony. No name. What should I do with it?”

            Lupin gave Harry a reproachful glance.

            “We’re not in class right now!” Harry protested.

            “You’re in _detention_ ,” Lupin said loudly.       

            Harry nodded and winked. “Right. Sorry, _Professor_.”

            Lupin ignored him and returned to his desk. The office was in silence. Hermione looked back and forth between Lupin and Harry. They clearly knew each other outside of school, but how? After a while, Harry spoke again, confirming Hermione’s suspicions.

            “Are you gonna come over for Christmas?”

            “Yes,” Lupin said stiffly, not meeting Harry’s eyes, obviously trying to discourage a conversation. Harry didn’t take the hint.

            “Have you seen my dad or Sirius recently?” he asked.

            “Not since school started.”

            “Me either. They write, though. And my mum.”

            Lupin nodded and picked up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. He was still trying to cut off the chit-chat. Harry wouldn’t have it.

            “So, do you—”

            “Harry. This is a detention, not social hour.”

            Harry frowned. “I was just going to ask if you—”

            “Does it pertain to the task at hand?” Lupin said, gesturing to the boxes of papers.

            “Well, no, but—”

            The look on Lupin’s face alone made Harry close his mouth. Hermione found herself to be quite fond of Lupin suddenly and returned to sorting the assignments.

            “So, Hermione,” Lupin said after a moment. “You’re enjoying school?”

            “Er, yes, I—” she began.

            “Oh, _she_ gets to talk, and not me?” Harry blurted. “Not fair!”

            Lupin reached across his desk and grabbed Harry’s arm, yanking him over. Lupin’s grip looked painful. He hissed something in Harry’s ear. Hermione looked away and pretended to be completely absorbed in her work, though she really wanted to hear what Lupin was saying. When he let go of Harry, Harry returned to the box of homework, sulking and quiet. The awkwardness in the room was tangible. Hermione shuffled her papers just to break the silence. Lupin coughed, probably for the same reason. About ten minutes later (likely the longest Harry had ever gone without running his mouth), Lupin addressed Hermione.

            “You can go now, Hermione.”

            She nodded and left without reminding him the detention was only half over. She went back to Gryffindor tower, where Neville was doing homework in the common room. She sat down next to him.

            “I thought your detention went until eight,” he said.

            “Lupin let me leave early,” Hermione explained. “But he made Potter stay. Have I ever mentioned that Lupin is my favorite professor?”

            Neville smiled faintly. “You should’ve have jinxed him. Potter, I mean.” 

            “Well, I did. And I don’t regret it,” she said truthfully.

            “Am I really a Parselmouth?” he asked quietly.

            Hermione nodded solemnly.

            Neville looked down at his hands. “Everyone’s been staring at me.”

            “Aren’t you used to that by now?” she teased.

            “Well, before they stared because I’m famous. But now it’s like… they’re scared.”

            “Well, what’s wrong with being a Parselmouth?” Hermione meant it as a rhetorical question, but Neville answered her.

            “It’s considered Dark Magic,” he mumbled.

            “But you can’t help it!” she pointed out.

            “You think they care?” Neville said, meeting her eyes. This in itself was rather bold for him. “I can’t help it that I defeated… You-Know-Who, but everyone goes crazy about that. It’s who I am. I’m just the kid who killed him.”

            “You’re more than that, Neville,” Hermione said softly. She was sure that was the most words Neville had strung together in the entire time she had known him.

            “Not really,” he retorted. “It’s the most interesting thing about me.”

            Hermione didn’t know what to say… Admittedly, that was an accurate statement and she didn’t want to lie to him. Neville seemed to notice her hesitation. He hurriedly gathered up his things and ran up into the boys’ dormitory. Hermione could follow him—girls could go into the boys’ dormitory, though not vice-versa—but she was sure he wanted to be alone.

            She noticed for the first time that everyone in the common room was staring at her. She quickly looked down at the floor and realized for a moment what it was like to be Neville Longbottom.

 

* * *

 

Lupin felt fatigued and his mind was a little hazy. That, of course, signaled the upcoming full moon; the first since he had started working at Hogwarts. Luckily, he had the Wolfsbane Potion now, which made the entire ordeal much more bearable. Still, he wasn’t looking forward to tonight.

             Lupin had his classes work quietly and individually today, because he had very little energy to spare. His first-year class was almost over. They were all slightly restless, accustomed to having more exciting Defense lessons.

            Harry hadn’t said much more than, “Good morning, Professor Lupin,” to him ever since his detention. Lupin had to admit it was a nice break from Harry’s usual incessant chatter.  Harry was remarkably like James. When class ended, his students filed out of the room, except for one who lingered behind.

            “Professor?” said Harry timidly.

            “Yes?” Lupin said carefully.

            Harry glanced over his shoulder. “Tonight’s a full moon, isn’t it?”

            Lupin nodded slowly, going to close the door.

            “And you have your potion, right?” Harry continued once the door had been shut.

            “Yes,” Lupin answered.

            “Well, do you want me to stay with you when you transform?” Harry said quickly. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”

            Lupin smiled sadly. This was why he loved Harry. He had forgotten how very exactly Harry was like his father. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, “but I’ll be alright. Besides, you have class tomorrow. I usually just sleep, anyway.” 

            Harry looked surprised and disappointed. Lupin knew what he was thinking of.

            “No, I wasn’t planning on running wild around the Forbidden Forrest like the good old days.”

            Harry smiled shyly. “Okay, well, have a nice night.”

            Lupin laughed. “I’ll try. See you, Harry.”

            “Bye, Moony,” Harry called, then clapped a hand over his mouth and widened his eyes. Lupin didn’t correct him this time, and Harry scurried out of the room before he had the chance to.


	5. Christmas Holidays

Peter Pettigrew was shaking uncontrollably as Snape led him into the house and to a small, dark room. His eyes adjusted and he recoiled instinctively. The… _thing_ upon the chair was hideous. Shriveled and frail; small as a baby but ancient in appearance. It smiled; a horrible sight to behold.

            “Pettigrew,” it said in a cold, high voice. “How nice of you to drop in.”

            Pettigrew nodded, looking at the dusty floor beneath his feet. He wanted nothing more than to assume his vermin form and scurry away; go into hiding for a good ten, twenty years until the whole thing blew over. That, unfortunately, was not an option.

            “You’re loyal to me?” Voldemort said softly.

            Pettigrew nodded again.

            “ _Crucio_ ,” Voldemort said lazily. Pettigrew gasped as the pain overpowered him: His muscles were being wrenched away from the bone; his skull was splitting in two; every inch of flesh was burning. Then it was over soon than he expected. He caught his breath. It had been excruciating but nothing compared to the Voldemort of ten years ago.

            The tiny, wrinkled man stroked his wand thoughtfully. “It tires me,” he said. “I am weak.”

            “You are growing stronger, my Lord,” Snape assured him.

            “Yes,” Voldemort considered. “But I wonder if… I can kill.” He looked at Pettigrew, his eyes flashing red.

            Pettigrew tensed, ready to transform as soon as Voldemort made a move. But he only smiled, baring sharp, yellowing teeth.

            “Pettigrew,” he said again, conversationally this time. “What have you been doing for the past ten years?”

            Pettigrew started, and did some quick thinking while carefully avoiding Voldemort’s eyes. Now was not to time to fall victim to his uncanny skill with Legilimency.

            “Well,” he began, “I’ve kept the trust of the Order of the Phoenix. I’ve positioned myself for—”

            “You knew I’d return?” Voldemort interrupted. “How… faithful.”

            Pettigrew gulped; he was sweating profusely. The dim light-bulb hanging above his head felt as bright as an interrogation light. He wondered whether he would get out of here alive…

            “Snape tells me you bring news,” Voldemort said suddenly. “About the Longbottom boy.” He sneered as he spoke the words; his contempt for the kid obvious.

            Pettigrew cleared his throat. This was his chance. “Yes, my Lord,” he said. “I have a plan.”

 

* * *

 

Ron Weasley was glad when the Hogwarts Express finally slowed to a stop. The entire journey had been filled by Harry talking about his dad and some bloke called Sirius. They sounded cool enough, but Ron got the impression Harry idolized them. Ron had managed to get a few words in about his brother Charlie who worked with Dragons. Harry seemed only mildly impressed.

            “Bye, Ron! See you after the holidays,” Harry called as he ran from the compartment.

            “Bye, Harry,” Ron said, but Harry was already completely gone from sight. Ron gathered his things and went in search of bright red hair—the easiest way to find his brothers. Eventually, he saw Percy ahead of him on the platform. He was talking to some girl. Ron didn’t think much of it, until—he kissed her lightly on the mouth. Ron stopped dead in his tracks. Two people on either side of him voiced his thoughts perfectly.

            “How does a prat like him get a girlfriend?”

            “And she’s pretty, too.”

            Ron saw Fred and George standing beside him. The twins smirked. They and Ron kept walking toward Percy. When they reached him, the girl was long gone.

            “Who was that?” George asked, wiggling his eyebrows scandalously.

            “What?” Peter said, his face blank but turning slightly pink beneath his trademark Weasley freckles.

            “The girl,” Fred clarified impatiently.

            “No one,” Percy said quickly, the color in his cheeks deepening. “Let’s go. Bill is going to pick us up.”

            “Don’t know what she sees in him,” Fred sighed. George and Ron sniggered. They soon spotted yet another tall red-head. It was a family joke that the Weasleys were single-handedly saving gingers from extinction.

            “Oi, Bill!” George shouted.

            “Guess what!” Fred said, equally loud.

            “Percy’s got a girlfriend!” George finished.

            Percy groaned dramatically as Bill laughed.

            “C’mon guys, let’s go home,” he said. He held out two arms. The twins grabbed one, and Percy and Ron took the other. Ron took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, they were standing outside the Burrow and Ron felt like he was going to throw up. He stumbled a couple feet away from his brothers and willed himself not to puke.

            “Aw, does that make ickle Ronnie sick?” Fred pouted.

            Ron shot him a dirty look, but turned his head too quickly, making him dizzy all over again. He felt extremely pathetic—he couldn’t even handle Apparition!

            Luckily, the rest of the Weasley clan ran out of the Burrow, drawing attention away from Ron’s weak stomach. Their mum reached them first and smothered them with kisses.

            “Mother,” George moaned. “You can’t’ve missed us _that_ much.”

            “I did,” Ginny said quietly to Ron. “I can’t stand being the only kid in the house.”

            “Oh, it can’t be that bad,” Ron scoffed.

            “It is,” she insisted. “Trust me.”

            Suddenly, Ron was forced into a head-lock. He grunted and tried to wriggle out. The grip tightened.

            “Let go, Charlie,” Ron panted. He was released and nearly fell onto his knees in the snow. Charlie roughly patted Ron’s head, causing a fair amount of pain. Apparently, he still wasn’t accustomed to his recently developed strength.

            “Wanna see something, Ron?” Charlie asked as the Weasleys went into the house. They paused just outside the door, along with Ginny. Charlie lifted up the corner of his shirt, revealing a patch of shiny, raw-looking skin; a grisly burn.

            “How’d you get that?” Ron asked stupidly.

            Charlie rolled his eyes and dropped his shirt, covering up his injury. “Kitchen fire. What d’you think? I work with dragons!”

            “You should get that looked at,” Ginny said importantly.

            Charlie shrugged. “The scars are part of the fun. But don’t tell mum—she’ll go mental.”

            He opened the door and the three siblings went in. It was warm and smelled delightful inside the Burrow. Ron smiled contently and sat down at the long kitchen table, his stomach rumbling hungrily.

 

* * *

 

Neville Longbottom was one of the last students to get off the train. He and Hermione stepped out onto the platform together.

            “Bye, Neville,” Hermione smiled, and went off toward a young couple wearing Muggle clothes. They were looking around and pointing things out to each other, as excited as two kids in a candy shop. When they saw Hermione they took turns hugging her and then went off together. Just before Hermione left Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, she turned and waved to Neville. He waved back, then searched for his grandmother. She wasn’t hard to find. She was wearing her tall hat (the hideous vulture one) and was loudly calling his name.

            “Neville! Neville! Come here, boy!”

            He exhaled heavily and went to her side.

            “You didn’t write back,” she said, narrowing her eyes. No “hello,” no “how are you?”—just an accusation. A true one, at least.

            Neville pretended to not know what she was talking about. But he had always been a bad liar.

            “I got you an interview with the _Daily Prophet_ , but since you didn’t write back—”

            “I don’t want to be interviewed.”

            His grandmother stared at him as if he was mentally unstable. Then she sighed exasperatedly.

            “Fine, then. Come along. Your Uncle Algie is coming over for dinner.”

                       

* * *

 

Lily Potter sometimes wished she had a daughter. Now was one of those times. She was preparing dinner at her home in Godric’s Hollow. Although James, Sirius and Peter were all there—having a drink at the kitchen table—she was working alone and no one had offered to help thus far.

            Then she reminded herself that Harry was enough of a handful and having another child could mean having another son—another James. That was practically what Harry was at times. He was so much like his father. Everyone said it, but Lily fully understood the truth in the claim, as she lived with both of them.

            Lily’s thoughts were interrupted when James made an off-color joke and his two friends erupted in laughter. She gave him a disapproving look and he grinned innocently in return.

            “On a more serious note,” Peter said suddenly. “I fear that the Longbottom boy—er, Neville—is in danger.”

            Everyone stared at his blankly. Lily looked up from the chicken in surprise. Then Sirius threw his head back and laughed.

            “Where’d that come from?” he said. “Weren’t we discussing Veela?”

            “Yes,” Lily said bitterly. “Yes, you were. At length.”

            James winced. “You know, Lils, Veela don’t really do it for me.”

            “Speak for yourself,” Sirius said. “I’d like to get me a Veela. Or two. Or six.”

            Lily tried to look disgusted, but she felt the corners of her mouth tugging up. “That’s terrible, Sirius.”

            He shrugged. “I have needs.”

            Lily reached over the counter to playfully slap his arm. “I invite you into my home, and you talk about your—”

            “Actually, Prongs invited me,” Sirius pointed out.

            “Still, Harry will be here any minute and I don’t need him to hear you talking like that!”

            “Don’t worry, I’m an excellent influence on him,” he said airily, with a hint of sarcasm.

            Lily snorted, but before she could reply she heard the front door open. Remus and Harry strolled in—rather Remus strolled and Harry sprinted. He ran right into the arms of his father. Lily smiled and washed her hands, ready to hug her son. But she should’ve known Harry would go to Sirius next. After he hugged his godfather, he sat down at the table and tried to sneak a sip of James’s drink.

            “Harry,” Remus said meaningfully. Harry glanced up at him, then ran to Lily and gave her a quick hug. Lily sighed—that was the best she was going to get. She went to greet Remus, but James stopped her. There was a familiar mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. He placed his wand on Remus’s chest.

            “Honestly, Prongs,” Remus sighed. “If I was a Death Eater, I would have killed you two minutes ago when I got here.”

            “Unless you had to get information from us,” Sirius countered.

            “Fair point,” Remus allowed.

            Lily laughed, remembering when they had to perform these “checks” every time someone came over. Now, luckily, it was just a joke. James pressed his wand into the base of Remus’s throat, looking like he was having a lot of fun.

            “Fine, fine,” Remus said. “I, Remus John Lupin—werewolf; commonly known as Moony—met you, James Christopher Potter, at the Sorting in our—”

             “Yeah, yeah, I know; I was there,” James said impatiently, stowing his wand. They all laughed, and Lily hugged Remus. He kissed her softly on the cheek. She returned to the kitchen and charmed a couple knives to chop up vegetables on their own.

            “How’s teaching?” she asked Remus. “Defense, right?”

            “Yes, Defense,” he responded. “It’s great. I really enjoy it and it’s so rewarding. Let me help you with that, Lily.” He stood up and started toward the kitchen.

            “No, no,” Lily said quickly. “You just got here.” She met eyes with James, who finally took the hint. He hurriedly busied himself mashing some potatoes.

            “Sorry, love,” he breathed, standing far too close to her than was necessary even in their small kitchen. He soon abandoned his efforts with the potatoes altogether and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, rocking back and forth slowly. Lily shook her head. Why did James think seducing her was a legitimate apology?

            “James?” she said softly.

            “Hmm?”

            “Get back to work.”

            He sighed and returned to the potatoes, still ‘accidentally’ brushing up against her every so often. Lily noticed that Harry and Sirius had disappeared, and wasn’t surprised. Those two were like peas in a pod.

 

* * *

 

 “So, then they wouldn’t let me try out because of the stupid first-year rule,” Harry was saying.

            Sirius was walking around the lawn with his favorite godson. Alright, his _only_ godson. But he truly loved Harry like his own child. When Sirius was with him, he actually wanted kids. But then he remembered that having children would entail settling down and abandoning his comfortable bachelor lifestyle.

            Sirius really wasn’t as much of a player as he led people to believe. Well, he was a bit of a player. His earlier comment about Veela had been only been a slight self-caricature. And he never really had been serious about a girl. _Ironic_ , he thought, smiling to himself. Although the serious-Sirius pun was grossly overused, it still amused him.

            “…I mean, I’ve got a Firebolt!” Harry rambled. “Gryffindor could really use me on the team.”

            He was still going on about the Quidditch thing? _Geez._

            “You know, James wasn’t on the team until his third year,” Sirius said. Harry’s face brightened immediately. Now he probably was going to wait until his third year to try out.

            “I saw the article about you in the _Prophet_ ,” Harry said, a bright smile on his young face.

            Sirius chuckled. The article had not been one of Rita Skeeter’s finer moments. There had been about two sentences at the beginning about Sirius’s work as an Auror. The rest was a load of rubbish centered on his heritage: A Black ended up in Gryffindor and went on to be an Auror? When his own brother was a Death Eater? Skeeter had apparently gone as far to interview Kreacher, his mother’s house-elf, and the results were hilarious—if you had a dark sense of humor. Which Sirius did indeed possess.

            Kreacher ranted about how Sirius was a “nasty pest of a child” who “broke his mother’s heart” and “practically killed her, my poor mistress.” Sirius had little trouble remembering the exact quotes because he had read it so many times. It was, after all, the first time he had an article all about him in the _Daily Prophet_. He made a mental note to get it framed when he got home.

            Skeeter wrapped it up by posing a couple rhetorical, scandal-inducing questions as usual. Quite formula, really. Nothing special. It wasn't much longer before Lily called the two of them in for dinner. They went back into the house and Harry claimed the seat next to James. Sirius sat between Harry and Remus. Lily sat next to James and Peter on the other side of her. The six of them piled their plates high with food.

            “This is delicious,” Remus said. “Thank you, Lily.”

            Leave it to Moony to have impeccable manners, even around people he’s known for twenty years.

            “Actually, I made the potatoes,” James said. Lily rolled her eyes.

            “Hey, guys,” Harry said suddenly, his mouth full of chicken. 

            “Don’t talk with food in your mouth, honey,” Lily said.

            Harry ignored her. He pulled something out of his pocket. Sirius recognized it instantly.

            “Look what I found!” Harry said, waving the piece of parchment around. Sirius exchanged an awed glance with his friends. Then, they all began firing questions at Harry.

            “Where’d you get that?”

            “Does it still work?”

            “Did Filch still have it?”

            “Have you used it to sneak to Hogsmeade yet?”

            Harry looked slightly overwhelmed, but very pleased with himself. “I need to know,” he said slowly, “if Moony’ll take it away from me because he’s a teacher.”

            Everyone turned to stare at Remus.

            “Of course not!” he said indignantly.

            Harry grinned. “Okay. I nicked it from Filch’s office.” He tapped the map with his wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

            The Marauders gathered around Harry as their map came alive. No one thought to scold him for underage magic. Not even Lily.

            “I haven’t seen this in years!” Sirius exclaimed.

            “Now you have my Cloak and the map,” James said approvingly. “That’s m’boy.”

            Harry beamed. The rest of the dinner was filled with casual conversation, Lily occasionally steering them away from more inappropriate topics. The Marauders tended to gravitate toward that type of discussion. When all the food was gone, the room was in a content and comfortable silence. Which Wormtail promptly broke.

            “As I said before,” he said nervously, “I think that Neville is in grave danger.”

            “Longbottom?!” Harry blurted. “Why are we talking about him?”

            “He’s in your house, isn’t he?” Lily said. “How is he?”

            Harry met eyes with Remus and quickly looked away, flushing for some reason. “So, why’s he in danger?” he said, deftly changing the direction of the conversation. Sirius made a mental note to inquire Harry about what he did to Neville later. Sirius had bullied enough people in his day to recognize the tell-tale signs.

            Peter cleared his throat. “Well, I reckon the Dark Lord isn’t going to be gone forever.”

            The silence was uncomfortable this time.

            “Won’t you call him Voldemort?” Sirius said impatiently. Peter flinched.

            “I’ll humor you, Wormtail,” James said. “Let’s say Voldemort is back, and he wants to go after Neville for some reason or another. What do you say we should do?”

            Peter swallowed, his forehead shiny with sweat. Sirius wondered why he let his delusions get him so worked up.

            “The—the Order should protect—” Peter began.

            “The Order’s been disbanded,” Remus said. “We haven’t met for over ten years now.”

            Peter’s small, watery eyes darted around the room. “Well, I’d take it upon myself, then, to protect him.”

            “What’s wrong, Wormy?” Lily said kindly.

            “Nothing, nothing,” Peter said. “Uh, so… Quidditch?”

            Sirius raised an eyebrow at James who mirrored the expression. Harry didn’t seem to have noticed anything strange, though, because he was chatting animatedly about his favorite sport. But he was the only one. Remus and Lily also looked vaguely suspicious. Sirius let himself forget about it for the time being; Peter had always been a bit odd.


	6. Howlers and Robberies

Draco Malfoy was glad to be back at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, though he’d never admit it to anyone. The Christmas holiday had been long and very dull. The Malfoy Manor was huge and old and lonely with only Draco and his parents occupying it. And their house-elves. But they didn’t count as company.

            “Well,” said his father suddenly. “I’ll see you at Easter.”

            “See you,” Draco said. They stood facing each other for an awkward moment, until Draco left to board the train. He found Crabbe and Goyle easily—they were hard to miss—and joined them in a compartment along with several other Slytherins in his year.

            “Hello, Draco,” said Pansy Parkinson. “How was your holiday?”

            “It was fine,” he said airily. She seemed to be waiting for him to ask her the same question. He didn’t.

            “Mine was good, too,” she said. Pansy looked down at her feet in the subsequent silence.

            Draco saw two particular Gryffindors walk past their compartment: Longbottom and Granger. Crabbe and Goyle had also noticed, and were looking at Draco expectantly.

            “I hate Longbottom,” Pansy said with little conviction. Probably so she could take it back if Draco disagreed with her.

            “Me too,” he said and Pansy looked greatly relieved.

            She began complaining about Granger, and Weasley and just about every Gryffindor even the most unassuming ones that Draco had never heard of.

            “And Potter,” she spat. “He thinks he’s so good at everything!”

_Well, he sort of is good at everything_ , Draco thought to himself.

            “He’s always showing off,” Pansy continued. “He’s such a—”

            “I think Potter’s alright,” Draco interjected. Pansy gaped at him, and then completely changed her tune.

            “Yeah, he’s cool, I guess,” she said, reclining casually, but her face turned a shade pink.

            Draco wondered why it was so easy for him to find people that would agree to whatever he said. Maybe he had a natural talent for authority. His fellow first-year Slytherins looked up to him as a leader. And he was more than ready to fulfill that position. After further Gryffindor-bashing, the train came to a stop and Draco led his posse off and all the way down to the dungeons, to the Slytherin common room.

            He was fond of the atmosphere in the room. There was an overall greenish tint to it. The lighting made his white-blond hair emanate a green glow. The air was cool and humid; the ceiling, low; the décor, minimalistic. There were faint rumbling sounds ever-present overhead—the Black Lake, churning and breathing… Everything came together to create the overwhelming impression of being underwater.

            Back in September, Draco had felt a suffocating claustrophobia every time he came in the common room. But he had learned to embrace the dimness and the dankness of the dungeons. Being comfortable in such an environment meant being a true Slytherin; sly, cunning, and brave in his or her own rite. Not that overrated, self-sacrificing Gryffindor brand of courage. That was more accurately defined as stupidity.

            After a long and rather depressing stay at Malfoy Manor, Draco was relieved to be back and, in the murky light of the common room, was teeming with Slytherin pride.

 

* * *

 

 Harry Potter wasn’t surprised to receive several letters the very first morning back after Christmas holiday. One from each of his parents, one from Sirius and… Why were there four letters? He grabbed the fourth one curiously. It was from… Wormtail? Harry opened the letter eagerly, forgetting completely about the delicious breakfast in front of him.

 

_Harry;_

_I hope you had a nice holiday, and are enjoying your first day back at school._

_I have a couple questions for you, if you don’t mind. What do you know about Neville Longbottom? What are his interests? How is he in school?_

_Thanks,_

_—Wormtail_

Harry reread the letter a few times, growing more and more irritated. He could almost hear Wormtail’s pathetic, apologetic tone of voice as he read. What was it that was at all interesting about Neville? He was so boring… Harry began to write back, pouring his frustration out in his words and poking a couple holes through the paper with his quill.

 

_Wormtail;_

_Thanks for pretending to care about me; I appreciate it, though I won’t return the favor._

_What I know about Longbottom is that he’s a blubbering fool, and completely useless at magic. He doesn’t deserve any of the attention he’s gotten. As far as his interests… I’m not his friend, how should I know? He only has one friend, and I reckon she just feels sorry for him. But he’s not entirely worthless in Herbology. Actually, he’s the best in our class. So I guess he likes plants. I know; he has the personality of a rice-cake._

_This is the last time I’ll answer questions about him._

_—Harry_

Harry looked over his letter, pleased with his work. He sealed it up in an envelope and secured it to the leg of an owl. Just before he sent the owl off, he said, “Give Wormtail a nice bite on the finger for me.”

            The owl seemed to understand his instructions, and flew off, out of the Great Hall.

            “Hey, Harry,” Ron said suddenly. Harry glanced up and followed his gaze—the three letters he’d ignored were smoking dangerously. It took him only a moment to grab the three letters—they were howlers, and were so hot they burned his hands—and dash out of the Great Hall. The few stragglers coming down to breakfast looked at him inquiringly. He’d only just made it into the nearest empty classroom when the three letters all exploded at once.

            Harry shrank back against the wall as the voices of his parents and Sirius surrounded him. He was only able to catch snippets of what each said—their voices escaladed like they were trying to yell over each other—but it was more than enough to get the point across:

            “Remus told us—”

            “—what you did to Neville—”

            “How could you, Harry?”

            “—raised you better than that…”

            “—so ashamed—”

            “—taking away your Firebolt…”

            “You will apologize to Neville—”

            “—in person—”

            “—and you will be sincere—”

            “—as soon as you get this letter—”

            “—or else!”

            The three notes burst into flames and only ashes were left. And the sound of their voices ringing in Harry’s ears. He picked himself up off the ground—his eyes were prickling, but he blinked away any oncoming tears hastily and rubbed at his nose.

            His mum may have scolded him before… His dad may have raised his voice on occasion… Even Sirius may have snapped at Harry once or twice… But never anything like that. Harry could only be glad Lupin hadn’t told them until he’d already left on the train. It would have been unbearable in person.

            Harry kicked at the dusty remnants of the howlers on the floor, and sulked out of the classroom. He wasn’t even hungry anymore. And what he found just outside the door didn’t help his appetite.

            Hermione jumped away from the door as soon as he opened it. A little ways behind her, Neville was standing there, staring down at his feet. Harry glowered at Hermione, and she crossed her arms smugly.

            “You had it coming,” she smirked.

            “Piss off,” Harry grumbled, turning away.

            “You heard your mum,” she taunted. “At least I heard her. And your dad, too, sounded like. And some other bloke. Merlin, they sounded real angry… I bet you could hear them all the way out on the Quidditch pitch…”

            Harry clenched his fists and kept walking. It would have made him feel a lot better to hex her, but he retrained himself. Lupin would find out. And, apparently, he would run along and tell Harry’s parents…

            “Aren’t you going to apologize to Neville?” Hermoine continued. “What did your dad say? ‘Or else’? That was it, wasn’t it? Didn’t sound like an empty threat, either…”

            Harry turned around. Hermione was grinning widely. Neville was blushing and fiddling with his wand nervously, a distance behind her.

            “Sorry, Neville,” Harry mumbled, then quickly turned around and kept walking.

            “That didn’t sound sincere at all, Harry!” Hermione called after him, clearly having a bloody good time… “Your parents would be so disappointed… No, no, ashamed! That’s what they said, ashamed…”

            Harry made the rudest hand gesture he could think of over his shoulder as he turned the corner. Hermione only laughed. What Harry wouldn’t have given to jinx her…

 

* * *

 

 Hermione Granger really was an over-achiever.

            It was very late at night, a few days after term had restarted, and she was the only one up—or, at least, still in the Gryffindor common room. She was reading _Hogwarts: A History_ , a very interesting book she hadn’t got around to finishing yet. It was so quiet she could hear the rustling of sleeping students above her in the dormitories.

            She also heard someone who wasn’t sleeping. Footsteps on the stairs to the boys’ dorm. Hermione extinguished her wand, plunging the common room into darkness, and stayed very still, holding her breath. There was someone coming down. His wand was lit, and he was examining a piece of parchment as he walked down the stairs.  

            It was Harry Potter. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

            “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” she said.

            Harry jumped and fell backward on the steps, sliding the rest of the way down. His wand clattered loudly on the floor about halfway between him and Hermione. It was dark now, save the faint glow from the fire, and she could barely see him.

            “ _Lumos_ ,” she whispered. As soon as her wand was ignited, she scrambled for Harry’s wand. He also lunged for it, but because he was on the floor and thoroughly confused, Hermione got to it first. Harry tried to wrestle it away from her, but she placed the tip of her own wand on his temple. He stopped struggling and eyed her warily.

            “Granger?” he said, backing away from her. She kept her wand pointed steadily at him.

            “Where are you going?” she demanded.

            Harry ruffled his hair as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands when he wasn’t holding a wand.

            “Nowhere,” he said, avoiding her eyes. Hermione took a step closer. Harry backed up farther and stooped to pick up the parchment from the floor. He folded it and tucked it away carefully.

            “What’s that?” she asked.

            “My homework,” he said fiercely.

            Hermione snorted. “I’m not stupid.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Considering I’m better than you in all the classes, I know I’m at least smarter than you.”           

            That shut Harry up. He looked down at his feet, and then suddenly whipped something out of his pocket. Hermione momentarily thought it was another wand and was about to disarm him, but then he was gone from sight. She didn’t move a muscle, and strained her ears. When she heard Harry—his breath coming from right behind her—it was too late. She yelped as Harry’s wand was yanked from her grasp. She forgot magic for an instant and swung out, hitting something that she couldn’t see and hitting it hard. Whatever she struck let out a grunt.

            Hermione found the solid yet invisible figure again and grabbed a handful of some strange, silky fabric and pulled. Harry was visible again, cupping his nose, a trickle of blood leaking through his fingers. His glasses were cracked. She had very little pity for him. She easily took his wand back, and stood triumphantly before him.      

            “Anymore tricks up your sleeve, Potter?” she smirked.

            Harry glared at her, pinching his nose. She wondered if it was broken. She hoped it was.

            Hermione looked at the fabric in her hands—it was an Invisibility Cloak. Of course. She shook her head ruefully. She could have just used a summoning charm to retrieve it if she had realized what it was. But then again, Harry wouldn’t have blood gushing from his nose…

            “Are you going to tell me where you’re going?” Hermione said, swinging Harry’s cloak in front of him tauntingly. When he reached out for it, she snatched it away.

            “It’s ibpor’and,” Harry said, still pinching his nose.

            “What?”

            “It’s important!” he repeated, releasing his nose briefly in order to enunciate.  

            Hermione considered it, twirling Harry’s wand. “If you don’t want to tell me…” She bent his wand a little, testing its flexibility.

            Harry’s eyes widened in terror. “Dohb break by wand!”

            “Tell me where you’re going.”

            Harry hesitated. She bent his want further, hoping it wouldn’t actually break.

            “Stop!” he protested, reaching out with his bloody hands. “You can come with.”

            Hermione grimaced: Harry’s nose, mouth and chin were smeared with blood. She stepped up to him and siphoned off the drying blood with her wand. He gaped at her, a stream of fresh red liquid leaking from his nostril.

            “Do you think it’s broken?” she asked tiredly.

            “No,” he replied, prodding his nose tenderly. Hermione roughly grabbed his glasses off his face and repaired them.

            “I could’ve done that,” Harry said, sliding the glasses back on.

            “I’m not giving you your wand back,” she said evenly. “Not yet.”   

            Harry groaned, and then sniffed loudly, pinched his nose again and tilted his head back. He held the position for several seconds.

            “I think the bleeding stopped,” he said carefully.

            Hermione nodded. “Now will you tell me where you’re going?”

            He shook his head. “There’s no time. We have to go right now. Get under the cloak.”

            She looked at him suspiciously.

            “I’ll explain later!” he said, grabbing the cloak and throwing it over the two of them. They shuffled out of the portrait hole and Harry took out the piece of parchment he was looking at before. Hermione did a double-take. It was a detailed map of Hogwarts. But it was… moving. Actually… there were little dots moving around the map, each labeled with a name.

            “What is that?” she whispered.

            “A map,” Harry said impatiently, studying it closely. Hermione stomped hard on his foot. He swore and glowered at her.

            “Oops, sorry,” she said insincerely. They continued shuffling on, bumping into each other and ‘accidentally’ stepping on each other’s feet.

            It took a long time to get out of the school, and Harry still hadn’t explained anything about where they were going, or why. They made their way down to the greenhouses. Harry cleaned up their footprints in the snow as they went.  

            “Where are we going?” Hermione asked.

            He ignored her.

            She repeated the question.

            Still no answer.

            Hermione pinched the skin of his arm and gave it a good, hard twist.

            “What the hell?!” Harry said, rubbing his arm and kicking her in the shin.

            “Tell me where we’re—”

            “Shut up!” he hissed, suddenly tense. He stopped moving and Hermione followed his lead.

            “What’s going—” she whispered.

            Harry pinched her arm this time, and much harder than she had pinched his. She pouted as they continued moving on toward the greenhouses, very slowly and not making a sound.

            Then she heard something—inside a greenhouse. Someone was in there. Harry was looking at his map, a line forming between his eyebrows. She leaned closer to him, and found the two of them on the map: _Harry Potter_ and _Hermione Granger_. A short distance away from them, inside the greenhouse, there was another dot. This one was labeled with an unfamiliar name:

_Peter Pettigrew_.

            She hadn’t the slightest idea who he was, or what this meant.

            “Come on,” Harry breathed and nudged her forward. They crept to the open window of the greenhouse and peered in.

            There was a small, rather pudgy man inside the greenhouse. He started at every sound, and was wiping his brow nervously. He was eyeing a certain, innocuous looking plant warily. He reached out his hand toward it and the plant suddenly snapped at him, making an unexpected snarling sound. The man leapt backward, stumbling into another plant that immediately wrapped its tentacle-like vines around his arms.

            Pettigrew wrenched himself from its grip and was now panting heavily. He mopped his forehead with his sleeve. He started moving toward Harry and Hermione. She ducked instinctively below the window and out of sight. Then she remembered she was invisible, and peeked up again. Pettigrew walked past them to smaller and hopefully tamer plants. He prodded one with a stick and it shot out dark liquid, hitting him in the face. He cursed loudly and rubbed at his eyes vigorously.

            The smell wafted over to Hermione now and she almost coughed from the rancid stench. She buried her nose in her scarf and breathed through her mouth. Pettigrew cautiously picked up the pot with the stinky plant—it looked like some sort of cactus from what Hermione could tell—and hurriedly left the greenhouses. He walked out past Harry and Hermione and started off across the grounds, stumbling through the deep snow and stopping every once in a while to clear his tracks. 

            Harry stood up and Hermione followed his lead. They watched him go, and once he was a safe distance away they began trudging up to the castle. It was beginning to snow, and he didn’t bother to clean up their footprints this time.

            “Who was that?” Hermione asked, her teeth chattering slightly. She had just noticed how cold it was.

            “Peter Pettigrew,” Harry said heavily.

            “Well, that helps,” she muttered.

            “I don’t know much more than you do, Granger,” he snapped.

            They made their way back to Gryffindor Tower in silence. Once they were inside, Hermione began up to the girls’ dormitory after giving Harry his wand back. He didn’t thank her.

            “Wait,” he said suddenly.

            She turned around expectantly, crossing her arms.

            “Well, I don’t know much about what just happened,” Harry began, “but I reckon it has something to do with Neville.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> When I've posted this story before elsewhere, I've always got either really good reviews or really bad reviews. Particularly of this chapter. Either way I want to know what you think!


	7. And the Trap Snaps Shut

James Potter didn’t know what to make of Peter. Harry’s last letter (the first since he, Lily and Sirius had all sent him howlers—James only felt a little sorry for him) said Peter had stolen a plant from the greenhouses—suspicious behavior in itself—but now Peter was flatly denying it.

            James sighed. “Harry said he saw you on the map.”

            “It must’ve been wrong,” Peter said easily. “I wasn’t anywhere near Hogwarts.”

            “The map is never wrong,” James argued, feeling a lot like an interrogator as he leaned over his friend. Peter stared back at him steadily for a long moment. Then his eyes flickered away uncomfortably.

            “It’s old,” Peter said quietly. “The charm could be wearing off.”

            “But Harry said he saw you in the greenhouse; that he was under the cloak,” James continued, nearing exasperation. He was sure that Peter wasn’t being honest with him. And this didn’t particularly bother him in itself. James just wanted to know _why_.

            “Are you taking his word over mine?” Peter asked. They had met eyes again and there was a hint of irritation in his voice.

            “Why would Harry lie?” James returned, matching his friend’s tone.

            “I don’t know!” Peter cried, throwing his hands up defensively. “He’s never really liked me; you know that.”

            James groaned. “That’s rubbish, Wormtail. Harry wouldn’t make up something like that just because he ‘doesn’t like you.’ I just want to know why you would steal a—”

            “I don’t have time for this,” Peter said, standing up. The chair was pushed back across the floor with a loud screech. “If you want to believe an eleven year old over me, then that’s fine.”

            He stormed out of the house, leaving James speechless. The angry _crack_ of him Disapparating was audible. Lily peeked out from the living room.

            “What’d you say to him?” she said in an accusatory tone, her hands on her hips.

            “Nothing! I just asked him about what Harry said in that letter,” James explained, running a hand through his hair. It felt even thinner than yesterday. He could not get used to this ‘aging’ thing.

            “Well, maybe he really didn’t do it,” Lily suggested, offering a reassuring smile.

            “But that doesn’t make any sense,” he sighed, sinking into a chair. Lily appeared behind him, massaging his shoulders. James let his eyelids slide shut and leaned his head back against her body.

            “Don’t worry about it,” she murmured. “It’s not a big deal.”

            He nodded slowly. “You’re right. It’s just a little suspicious, you know?”

            Lily agreed with him, and then giggled softly. “I’m assuming Peter won’t be joining us for dinner.”

            James smiled. “No, I don’t think so.”

            “Makes things easier for me,” she said, going into the kitchen. “What about Padfoot?”

            He wished she would come back and keep rubbing his shoulders. Maybe he should get stressed about something more often. “Nah, he’s got plans.”

            Lily gasped in mock surprise. “We get to have dinner to ourselves? Why, this is the first time since—”

            “Since Tuesday,” James provided, smirking.

            She narrowed her eyes. “If you were the one cooking it would seem a lot less often.”

            James laughed and went to join his wife in the kitchen.

* * *

Ron Weasley must have missed something. For the entire school year, he had been under the impression that Harry and Hermione hated each other. Then, literally overnight, that seemed to change. They still argued (a lot), and they didn’t spend loads of time together, but something was different. Every night, without fail, they met in a corner of the common room and studied the Marauder’s Map for some indiscernible reason.

            Harry wouldn’t tell Ron anything as to why they were watching the map so closely. Whenever Ron asked him, Harry would come up with some wild excuse to explain why he suddenly had to run away. Very suspicious behavior.

            Neville didn’t seem pleased to lose Hermione’s company for an almost an hour, every night. He had taken up the habit of spending a lot of time in the dormitory. Ron was tempted to do the same thing, and the whole experience made him realize that he needed more friends. If he didn’t know what to do with himself when Harry wasn’t available that was pretty pathetic. He needed to branch out; make new friends.

            Seamus and Dean were likely candidates, but those two were joined at the hip. Whenever Ron hung out with them, he felt like a third wheel. Fred and George always found a way to shake him when he tried glomming onto them. And, again, there was the third-wheel issue. So, Ron ended up in the dormitory with Neville when Harry and Hermione held their daily meetings.

            At the beginning of the year, Ron would’ve died to be Neville’s friend. But by now the celebrity had worn off and Neville was just an ordinary and painfully shy kid. So, the two of them didn’t get up to much talking when they were alone in the dormitory. Occasionally, one would ask the other a question about the homework, but there was little more interaction.

            “What do you think they’re doing?” Neville asked during one of these times.

            “Huh?” Ron said, looking up from his Transfiguration homework. He honestly had no clue what Neville was talking about.

            “Hermione and Harry. What are they doing?” Neville clarified.

            Ron wondered if he should divulge the secret of the Marauder’s Map to Neville. Then he felt a surge of anger toward Harry and figured; what the hell?

            “It’s a map,” Ron said. “A map of Hogwarts.”

            “Well, why are they staring at it every night?”

            “It’s not an ordinary map,” Ron explained. “It shows everybody who’s in Hogwarts and exactly where they are.”

            “Oh,” Neville said, his eyes widening in wonder. “Oh.”

            “Yeah.” Ron turned back to his homework, and neither pursued the topic.

            “What are you writing about Switching Spells?” Neville asked a moment later.

* * *

 

“Many months have passed, Pettigrew,” Voldemort said impatiently.

            Peter Pettigrew gulped and stared at the floor between his feet. He hoped he was valuable enough to be kept alive. But Voldemort had very little patience for anyone who was a step out of line, no matter their worth.

            “I have a plan, and—” he began.

            “You tell me that every time, and I’m beginning to doubt you.”

            “No, no,” Pettigrew said quickly. “I have to wait until the timing is right…”

            Voldemort seemed to consider this as he stroked his wand broodingly. “You have one more month.”

            Pettigrew nodded vigorously, relief rushing over him. He didn’t ask what would happen if the month was up and he hadn’t succeeded. He had the feeling he didn’t want to know… Pettigrew was grateful to get out of the old house. It was like he could breathe again. He hated living in this constant fear and paranoia. This could be his chance to deliver himself to safety. And he only had to secure the meek, little Neville Longbottom. Not a tall order.

            Except he still didn’t have an actual plan. He had been bumbling around for the past several months, making small moves here and there, but only half-heartedly. Now it was crunch-time. He had to act, and act fast. His own life was on the line. And that had always been a powerful motivator for Pettigrew.

* * *

Hermione Granger still mostly hated Harry. He remained an arrogant prat—nothing had changed there. But if she had to spend time with him, she would deal with it. This was entirely about Neville and she tried to ignore that Harry was being somewhat pleasant to her, and even leaving Neville alone. That was beside the point. And the point was… the point was that she was in the middle of a Transfiguration lesson and she had to be paying attention. Not reconsidering her previous condemnation of a certain repulsive bully.

            But Hermione didn’t really have to focus in Transfiguration. She had long since succeeded in turning the match into a needle and had resorted to zoning out for the rest of the class period. Neville was beside her, his face scrunched up and his match still very much a match. Hermione sighed. She should be helping him.

            “You have to focus really hard, Neville,” she encouraged.

            He exhaled and nodded, taking a small break before going back to work.

            “He’s not going to be able to do it,” said a quiet voice from behind her.

            Hermione started and turned around. Had Harry been behind her the entire time? She suddenly felt embarrassed, but then remembered he couldn’t read her thoughts.

            “Why would you say that?” she snapped in an undertone. “He’ll get it.”

            Harry twiddled his needle in his fingers, and looked doubtful.

            “You don’t always have to be so mean to him,” Hermione said firmly.

            Harry looked genuinely surprised. “I’m not being mean to him! It’s only the truth—he won’t be able to do it. He’s just not good with magic.”

            “That’s not a nice thing to say,” she grumbled.

            “It’s true, and you know it,” he said confidently. “But have you noticed I’m not making fun of him anymore?”

            Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What, do you want an award?”

            “No, I just want to remind you,” he said, unfazed. “I realized it’s not his fault that he’s crap at magic, or a Parselmouth or whatever else that’s wrong with him. So I’m not going to give him a hard time about it anymore.”

            Hermione snorted. “How noble of you.”

            “C’mon, give me some credit,” he implored, leaning forward, a trace of a smile on his face.

            She imagined she saw something insincere in his bright green eyes that kept her loathing him. But she didn’t have to respond, because Neville elbowed her at that moment. Harry smirked and leaned back in his chair smugly. Hermione felt the urge to give him a bloody nose again. He wasn’t so cocky when his nose was gushing blood… and the lenses of those stupid glasses all cracked and fractured… She’d have to look for another excuse to punch him sometime.

            “Look, Hermione,” Neville said energetically, luckily having missed her and Harry’s entire exchange due to his deep concentration.

            She examined his match. It was still fundamentally a match, although… the tip was noticeably sharper. Hermione beamed at him.

            “Good job, Neville,” she praised. He blushed a little and began to pack up his books. Class was nearly over. As they left the classroom, Hermione deliberately brushed past Harry.

            “Told you so,” she taunted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grin and shake his head.

* * *

Neville Longbottom went up into his dormitory after dinner to get his Charms homework. Hermione had agreed to help him with it, and he wasn’t about to lose the opportunity. When he reached his bed, he paused. He didn’t remember having _that_ on his bedside table.

            It was a rather strange plant, resembling a cactus but lumpier and with boils instead of thorns. It looked vaguely familiar from his _Herbology_ textbook. There was a note next to it. He picked it up and read it curiously.

 

_Neville—_

_This plant is a Mimbulus Mimbletonia. I thought you might enjoy it._

_As soon as you receive this note, please come down to greenhouse three for an advanced Herbology lesson with some of my older students._

_—Professor Sprout_

            Neville read the note again. He had really been looking forward to Hermione’s help on his assignment, but he couldn’t ignore the instructions from a professor. He put the note in his pocket and went back down into the common room, and past Hermione.

            “Neville?” she said sharply. “Where’s your Charms essay?”

            “I have to go meet Professor Sprout,” he said quickly.

            Hermione looked extremely confused and Neville took the chance to get out of the common room. He started down toward the greenhouses at a brisk pace. Everyone seemed to be going the opposite direction as him. Who else was attending this lesson? Unless…

            The note had said to come as soon as he got the letter.

            What if everyone had got the letter hours ago? What if the lesson was already over? Neville broke into a sprint and began clamoring down the hallway. This was his chance to finally be better at something than his peers, and he couldn’t face the prospect of having missed it.

            “No running in the hall!” Filch bellowed.

            Neville immediately slowed to a trot until he was around the corner. He began running again, and was quite out of breath by the time he neared the greenhouses. He slowed down and caught his breath. There didn’t appear to be anyone there. He stepped into greenhouse three. It was empty. Neville sighed. He missed his chance. He turned around to trudge back to the school, when he heard something behind him.

            It happened so suddenly, he wasn’t able to turn around. He had been struck on the back of the head with something hard. The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to meet him, but the world went black before his head hit the floor.


	8. Down the 'Willow Hole

Peter Pettigrew couldn’t help being surprised his plan had worked. Neville was lying unconscious on the ground at his feet. His scheme hadn’t been well thought out and was the furthest thing from foolproof, but phase one had gone swimmingly. Apparently, Neville was just as gullible as he had hoped. _Advanced Herbology lesson…_ Pettigrew chuckled to himself.

            Now for phase two.

            Pettigrew placed a Disillusionment charm on Neville, then on himself. He realized that this wasn’t his best idea, as he tried to find the now invisible Neville on the ground. He found the boy, and hoisted him up over his shoulder. Pettigrew carried him out of the greenhouses and out across the lawn, toward the Whomping Willow. Neville grew heavier with each step.

            Finally, Pettigrew stopped just out of the range of the Willow’s branches. He didn’t really know what he had been planning on doing at this point. He hadn’t thought he would get this far. He decided on charming a twig to fly up and touch the knothole on the trunk. The tree’s limbs froze. Pettigrew carefully made his way toward the tree and into the tunnel underneath it.

            He removed the Disillusionment charms and continued dragging Neville down the length of the tunnel. He was almost there now. With each step he grew closer to redeeming himself.

 

* * *

 

Remus Lupin was grading his third-year classes’ papers on Boggarts. It was easy to tell who had put time and effort into their papers and who had only just completed it that morning at breakfast. But he didn’t like giving out bad grades. Suddenly, the door to his office flew open. He jumped and looked up from his desk. Two children crashed into the room, both panting heavily as if they’d been running a long way.

            “Harry? Hermione?” Lupin said, surprised to see the two of them together and not trying to rip each others’ throats out as usual.

            “Professor—” began Hermione.

            “—the map—” Harry added.

            “—Neville—”

            “—and Wormtail!”

            “Look!”

            Harry thrust the Marauder’s Map at Lupin’s face.

            Lupin spread the map out on his desk and searched it, not quite sure what it was he was looking for.

            “By the Whomping Willow!” Hermione cried.

            “In the tunnel!” added Harry.

            Lupin’s eyes quickly found the tunnel under the Whomping Willow and saw what it was they were so concerned about. Two dots—one labeled _Neville Longbottom_ , the other, _Peter Pettigrew_ —were right on the edge of the map, moving slowly. Lupin watched as the dots disappeared—off the Hogwarts grounds. He stood up in alarm and looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione.

            “What is—?”

            “We don’t know!” Harry said urgently.

            Lupin quickly took the map and his wand. He turned to Harry and Hermione, a grave expression on his face.

            “Go get Dumbledore,” he ordered. “Explain this to him and tell him to come to the Shrieking Shack.”

            Harry and Hermione hesitated for a moment.

            “Now!”

            They nodded and ran out of the office. Lupin rummaged through his drawers until he found what he was looking for—an enchanted piece of parchment. James and Sirius had matching copies and they were charmed to relay messages back and forth instantly. He scrawled a note on it:

_Emergency—come to Shrieking Shack a.s.a.p._

            The ink faded, meaning the words were now appearing elsewhere on the matching scraps of paper James and Sirius had. Hopefully, they were still in the habit of checking them. Lupin now ran from his office, and out of the castle. He hadn’t had much of a chance to think through what was happening, and it made absolutely no sense to him.

 

* * *

 

“No running in the halls!” Filch shrieked as Harry and Hermione passed him at a flat-out sprint. Hermione slowed for a moment. Harry groaned. Why did she _always_ have to follow the rules?

            “Hermione!” Harry snapped. “What part of emergency don’t you understand?”

            She caught up to him. Harry kept running toward Gryffindor tower. He had to get his cloak. He wasn’t going to sit around the castle and wait. He was going to go to the Shrieking Shack and no one could stop him. But Hermione certainly tried.

            “Harry, Dumbledore’s office is right here!” she called after him, as he continued past it. “Where are you going?”

            “I’m going to get my cloak and then I’m going down there,” Harry answered.

            “No, Lupin said to get Dumbledore!”

            “You get Dumbledore. I’m actually going to help save Neville.”

            Hermione bit her lip. She turned around and pounded on the gargoyle for a moment. “Open up!” she yelled. The gargoyle didn’t move. “We need a password,” she said, wringing her hands fretfully. “I don’t know the password!”

            “Well, keep trying. See you later,” Harry said impatiently, starting to run again. A couple seconds later, he heard footsteps behind him.

            “I’m coming with,” Hermione said quietly. Harry smiled smugly.

            They burst into the Gryffindor common room, and clambered up the steps into the boys’ dorm, ignoring any inquiring looks from the other students. Harry grabbed his cloak from his trunk and they turned to leave. Someone was blocking the door.

            “Ron!” Harry said. “Move!”

            “Where are you going?” Ron said, following them down the stairs.

            “Nowhere,” Hermione said quickly. She and Harry shoved their way through the common room and out of the portrait hole. They began running back the way they’d come. Ron was still beside them.

            “It’s an emergency,” Harry said, trying to outrun him.

            “Then I’m coming with,” Ron said firmly.

            Harry sighed. “Fine.”

            “ _What_?! It’s not fine! He can’t come!” Hermione protested.

            Ron gave her a dirty look, as Filch screamed at them again and threatened them with detention. Harry spun around and hit Filch with a well-aimed Jelly-Legs Jinx.

            “Now we’re definitely getting detention,” Hermione whined as they left the castle.

            Harry ignored her. They neared the Whomping Willow. He remembered what his dad had told him—a long stick. All he needed was to prod the knothole with a long stick.

            “Help me look for a long stick!” Harry commanded. Hermione dutifully began scouring the ground, and didn’t ask any questions. Ron wasn’t so cooperative.

            “Where are we—?” Ron began.

            “Long stick!” Harry shouted. “Now!”

            Ron blinked in surprise but didn’t argue.

 

* * *

 

Neville opened his eyes. It was very dark. He had the sensation he was in motion, but he wasn’t walking.

            He was being carried.

            Everything came flooding back to him with a start and he struggled, falling into the dirt. There was a man that had been carrying him—one Neville had never met before.

            “Who are you?” Neville said, scrambling away from him. He was underground, in a tunnel, surrounded by dirt on all sides. “Where am I? Where are you taking me? Who are you?”

            The man didn’t answer any of his questions but merely grabbed a handful of Neville’s robes and continued dragging him along. Neville fought, trying to escape his grasp. But if he did manage to escape, he wouldn’t have known what to do. The man had taken his wand—the tip of it was visible in his pocket, just out of reach—and he had no idea which way to run. He could have been miles away from Hogwarts for all he knew.

            Before long, Neville was being shoved up some rickety stairs and into a dim room. He fell onto the ground. The wooden floorboards were dusty. He coughed and pulled himself up. There was another man in the room. He had thick black hair and a pale face. Neville crawled backward and bumped into the other man, who had brought him here. This man closed the door and went to stand by the black-haired man.

            Neville was startled to notice a fourth person in the room.

            On the chair in between the two men, there was a tiny, bundled-up figure; old and with gray, papery skin, and narrow eyes with a crimson glow. Neville froze as this small man looked at him.

            “Neville Longbottom,” he said, in an icy, high-pitched voice.

            Neville wished he was still unconscious.

            “Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

            Neville mustered up enough courage to move his head slightly back and forth.

            “You don’t?” the man said, looking disappointed.

            “No,” Neville squeaked.

            “Ah, but I know who you are,” he said, baring small pointed teeth. Or perhaps he was trying to smile. Either way, the result was terrifying.

            Neville was cowering in the corner. He couldn’t think of anything else but his desperate desire to escape.

            “I am Lord Voldemort,” the man said slowly.

            Neville heard this, but couldn’t process it. _No_ , he thought. _Voldemort is dead._

            “Are you surprised to see me, Neville?” Voldemort asked softly.

            Neville wasn’t able to respond in any way.

            “Look,” Voldemort said, turning to the two men on either side of him. “He’s speechless.”

            They laughed cruelly and humorlessly.

            “You’re dead,” Neville said above their laughter. His voice was weak and tremulous.

            Voldemort looked highly amused. “I am not dead. I’m alive. You did not _kill_ me.”

            Neville shook his head disbelievingly. This couldn’t be happening… This wasn’t possible.

            “No, Neville,” Voldemort continued. “I am not dead. You could never have killed me. No one can kill me.”

            A horrible thought dawned on Neville. _He’s going to kill me. I know he is._ He didn’t want to die. He was so afraid. It was going to be terribly painful, he knew it was. He couldn’t die, not yet. He was only eleven! He had hardly lived—no, he hadn’t lived at all. What had he experienced other than regular humiliation? And it was too late now to be the person he wanted to be. Neville was going to die.

            He shut his eyes tightly and held his breath. Any moment now. Why would Voldemort stall? Neville was completely defenseless—without a wand, and huddled in the corner. No one was coming to help him because no one knew where he was. No one would notice that he was missing. They’d find his body weeks from now—if at all—and send what was left of him back home to his grandmother. She would be so disappointed in him…

            Suddenly he came back to his senses and realized that he was still alive. This did not relieve him. He wanted it to be over with. The anticipation was the worst part; the dread in his stomach. Voldemort was watching him like a predator cornering its victim.

            “Give him his wand,” he ordered.

            His wand was thrown to him and rolled across the floor to his feet. Neville stared at it stupidly.

            “Pick it up, boy,” Voldemort snapped. “On your feet.”

            Neville hurriedly did what he was told. He wondered why—obedience wasn’t going to save his life. Voldemort also had a wand, and it looked huge in his small, shriveled hands.

            “Take the first shot,” he invited.

            Neville gaped at him. Voldemort wanted to… duel? Not only was Neville going to die, but he was going to be humiliated first. He gulped and raised his wand with a trembling hand. He couldn’t think of any spells… What was the point anyway? He was a goner.

            “ _Flipendo_ ,” Neville said shakily. He saw a weak jet of light come from the end of his wand. Then, before reaching Voldemort, it swerved and hit the light-fixture dangling from the ceiling. The light fell to the floor and shattered. The room was even darker now.

            “What was that?” Voldemort cackled. “I didn’t even have to block it!”

            The two men on either side of him laughed heartily. Neville thought about all the times he’d been embarrassed and had ‘wanted to die.’ Now he was going to get his wish. He didn’t fail to appreciate the bitter irony of it, even at a time like this.

            “You want to see a real Knockback Jinx?” Voldemort said.

            Before Neville could respond, he had been hit by a train. At least that’s what it felt like. He flew back, off his feet, and crashed into the wall, which buckled under his weight. Neville’s heart was pounding painfully in his chest and he feared he was having a heart-attack. Then the fear changed to hope: At least the end was near. But he wasn’t dying—just in a lot of pain. He was lying in the rubble of the demolished wall. He could feel his pulse in his head. A patch of his hair was matted with a sticky substance. Neville touched it tenderly. His fingers were stained red.

            “I don’t know what the werewolf is teaching you,” Voldemort said, “but that is a proper Knockback Jinx.”

            Neville’s head was throbbing. _The werewolf?_ What was he talking about? The room was spinning around him slightly, the floor was tilting, and the world felt murky and unreal.

            Then Neville came up with a new conclusion that made him feel a lot better. This _wasn’t_ real. He was simply having an extremely vivid and disturbing dream. Even as he told himself this, he couldn’t believe it.

            “I see you’re not familiar with dueling,” Voldemort said. “I’ll help you out. It’s your turn now.”

            Neville shook his head, and the movement brought a fresh flood of pain. He didn’t want to fight. He couldn’t. He wanted to wake up. Or die. Whichever happened first.

            “Very well,” Voldemort said. “ _Crucio_.”

            And Neville thought he was in pain before.

            This was like nothing he had ever experienced before. He wanted to scream, but his voice was caught up in his throat. His body writhed, and he bit his tongue forcefully. The metallic taste of blood was in his mouth. He couldn’t think any coherent thoughts, except for an overwhelming desire for a clean, swift death. He didn’t even notice someone else come into the room. All he realized was that the pain had suddenly ceased. Neville gasped and opened his eyes. Someone had come to help him. And that someone was now engaged in a one-on-three duel.


	9. The Shrieking Shack

Remus Lupin had very little time to be shocked. There was no time to stare at his old friend, Peter Pettigrew, who apparently was a Death Eater. Or Snape, who Lupin hadn’t seen since their school days in Hogwarts. And then, of course, there was Voldemort. He assumed it was Voldemort, anyway. He didn’t know why this was so easy for him to accept. Maybe there always had been a part of him that doubted Voldemort really was gone forever. Someone like him couldn’t disappear so suddenly. It had never seemed right.

            Luckily, they seemed equally shocked to see him, though they overcame it quickly and began throwing curses at him. Lupin had no choice but to fight. He was hardly able to cast any offensive spells. It was all he could manage to put up shield charm after shield charm to protect himself and Neville.

            Neville was sitting helplessly on the ground, his wand beside him. He must have been terrified and looked pretty badly injured (he appeared to be under the Cruciatus Curse when Lupin entered), but he could have at least picked up his wand and tried something. Lupin could only hold them off for so long. If Dumbledore didn’t arrive soon… Lupin shook the thought from his mind. Dumbledore would come.

            And James, Lily and Sirius would be arriving any minute now. He assured himself of this. He could hold on a little longer. He had to. Besides, it was becoming more of a one-on-two duel, as Pettigrew seemed reluctant to fight. And then Neville picked up his wand from the ground. He kept casting the Knockback Jinx over and over, like it was the only one he knew. Lupin felt a little offended by this. He was sure he had been a better teacher than that.

            All of Neville’s jinxes swerved around Voldemort, or even bounced back and hit Neville. Luckily, they were so weak they didn’t even knock him off his feet. It didn’t seem like Voldemort was actually blocking the spells, though. Neville just wasn’t able to hit him.

            Where was Dumbledore? What was taking him so long?

 

* * *

 

_A long stick?_ Ron Weasley thought as he searched the grass. Why did Harry need a long stick? Ron was utterly lost, but was afraid to ask any questions because both Harry and Hermione were very intense.

            “I found one!” Hermione cried and tossed a stick over to Harry. “Is it long enough?”

            Harry caught it and moved closer to the Whomping Willow cautiously. “Let’s find out,” he said as he continued inching forward.

            Suddenly, the Willow’s branches struck out at him. Ron jumped and Hermione shrieked. Harry leapt back, out of its reach. The Willow was still once more. Harry carefully extended the long stick toward the trunk of the tree. It almost reached it from where he was standing. Harry shuffled forward carefully until the end of the stick made contact with a knothole on the trunk of the tree.

            “Go,” he said to Ron and Hermione.

            Hermione wordlessly started off toward the tree. It didn’t strike out at her. Ron followed unsurely. Harry, keeping the stick on the knothole, approached the tree. He gestured for them to climb into a hole at the base of the Willow.

            “What?” Ron said, peering into the dark hole. “Are you mental?”

            Hermione jumped in first and beckoned Ron forward. Harry shoved him from behind. Ron sighed and climbed in. Harry followed him. Once in the hole, Ron was surprised to find a long tunnel. It was dark and dank inside. Harry led them off through the tunnel.

            “Where are we—?” Ron began.

            “Shut up!” Harry hissed. They continued on, deeper into the earth. After a while, they heard sounds from up ahead. There were crashes and bangs and shouts. Ron was yanked close to Harry and Hermione and the cloak was draped over the three of them. They continued on for a ways until reaching a staircase. Their progress was slow for they kept running into each other, confined to the small space under the cloak.

            “We should’ve got Dumbledore,” Hermione whimpered.

            Ron couldn’t help but notice Harry didn’t tell _her_ to shut up. They carefully climbed up the stairs, stepping on one another’s feet and trying to all stay concealed by the cloak. When they were at the top of the stairs, they went a short ways down a hallway, getting closer to the strange, loud noises. Ron felt his heart pounding in his throat. What was going on? Where were they?

            Then they were suddenly in a room with several other people. It was too much to take in all at once. Ron recognized Professor Lupin first, and then Neville Longbottom. There were two other men he didn’t recognize, and they were dueling Lupin. And then he noticed another person, in between the two strangers. He was small, the size of a toddler, but looked very old. Ron felt like he was having an odd dream. Nothing made sense. Jets of light were flying in between Lupin and the three other men. Neville was standing on the side, occasionally trying to contribute.

            Suddenly, Harry slipped out of the cloak. Lupin, distracted, nearly got hit by a curse. He ducked at the last moment and the bolt of light smashed into the wall behind him.

            “Harry! Where’s Dumbledore?”

            Hermione emerged out from under the cloak at this time.

            “I’m sorry, Professor,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears. “We didn’t tell him.”

            Lupin’s eyes widened. “What?! Go get him _now_!”

            Lupin was hit by a curse and went flying back into the wall. Harry immediately retaliated, hitting one of the men—the short one with light brown hair—with an impressive stunning spell. Hermione whipped out her own wand and joined the skirmish without hesitation. Lupin was recovering from the curse, and the shock, when Ron took off the Invisibility Cloak.

            “Ron?!” Lupin said incredulously. “Who all is here?”           

            “Just us three,” Harry said quickly, ducking to avoid a stream of light.

            Lupin got back into the fight, putting up shields tirelessly, only to have them destroyed by a curse a moment later. “Go get Dumbledore!” he shouted. “Now!”

            “We’re not leaving you!” Harry said.

            There was no time to argue. The two men still standing (or sitting in the case of the small one on the chair) were firing spells without end, and the stunning spell was fast wearing off the third. Ron, who had always considered himself a reasonably talented wizard, was unsure of what to do. He couldn’t think of any spells that might come in handy.

            “I’ll get Dumbledore,” Ron announced. Lupin nodded and waved him off. Ron was turning to leave when his body suddenly froze. He fell helplessly to the floor and wasn’t able to move an inch. Lupin was far too busy to unfreeze him, so Ron lay there uselessly. Dumbledore would not be coming.

 

* * *

 

Lily Potter had just arrived in Hogsmeade with James and Sirius. They had responded to Remus’s message as soon as they got it and they were now standing in front of the Shrieking Shack, out on the outskirts of the village. They ran up to the house, and in through the front door.

            “I’ve never used the front door to this place,” James commented as they went inside.

            There were the sounds of a struggle above them and they rushed up the stairs, following their ears. The walls of the second floor were all but demolished from stray curses and Lily was surprised the roof hadn’t collapsed yet. She had no idea what to expect as they drew nearer to where the ruckus was coming from.

            They were soon thrust into the center of a battle that seemed to have been going on for a while. The first thing Lily noticed was that her son was there.

            “Harry!” she cried, stepping in front of him. Once he was safe, she was able to survey the rest of her surroundings. Remus and Neville were there, as well as two other children she hadn’t seen before. One of them was lying on the floor, apparently petrified. James revived him and the boy sprang to his feet.

            They were all doing their best to fight three other people. One was Peter. Lily couldn’t process this. Why were Remus and Peter fighting against each other? Another was Severus Snape. Lily tried not to stare at him, but she looked at him long enough to see that her presence in the room rendered him unable to do anything but stare. They hadn’t seen each other since… since Hogwarts. A very long time. And they hadn’t spoken for about two years longer than that.

            The third person she didn’t recognize instantly. But then it dawned on her. Still, she couldn’t believe it. The addition of three more people made the room feel tiny and they were all crammed in together, hardly able to move enough to dodge spells. They all stared at each other for a split second until the fighting recommenced.

            Lily jumped right in without hesitation. She gave most her attention to Peter. She didn’t want to look at Snape, and she kept telling herself the small man in the chair between them wasn’t real. But he was real enough to strike Sirius down with a nasty curse a few minutes into it. He moaned and fell to the floor, his eyes swelling shut. Sirius wisely didn’t continue blindly hurling spells in the confined space.

            Harry kept trying to join in on the action, but Lily shoved him back behind her every time. The other three children were more content to stay safely hidden behind the adults. With Sirius now unable to fight, it was three-on-three. A fair fight. And soon Peter, who seemed to not have his heart in the duel, fell prey to Lily’s body-bind curse.

            James, Lily and Remus took the offensive and moved in closer. James and Snape were dueling enthusiastically, with equal expressions of contempt on their faces. Not even over a decade, apparently, could lessen their hate for each other. Lily had no choice but to assist Remus in attacking the tiny, wrinkled man in the chair. He had slits for eyes, and they were gleaming red. _Voldemort..._ Lily thought to herself _. But he’s dead!_

            Even though Voldemort was taking on both Lily and Remus—and Harry and the little girl both contributed a jinx or two every now and then—he still seemed to be putting in very little effort in defending himself and Lily had the sinking feeling they were fighting a losing battle. Because of this, she had little time to think, but could still wonder: Where was Dumbledore? _He should be here! He should be the first to know that Voldemort is back!_

            Somehow, Sirius was back on his feet, his eyes still reddened and puffy, but he was no longer blind. James seemed to be doing alright on his own with Snape, so Sirius fortunately joined with Lily and Remus in dueling Voldemort. That was when the tide turned.

            Lily had fought enough battles to know what it felt like to be winning. She knew what fear looked like in her opponent’s eyes. But Voldemort didn’t show any signs of fear—which further convinced her it was indeed Voldemort. Instead, he snarled in rage, and his eyes burned a brighter crimson—the distinct color of blood.

            Lily saw it coming a moment before it happened. She was the first to see what was going to happen. She saw Snape move his left arm over to Voldemort, while they both continued to fight. Lily paused and turned to Snape. They met eyes for a moment that lasted much too long. His sneering face softened. Then Voldemort’s tiny fingers grasped Snape’s arm. Lily had the chance—a fraction of a second—to act. Her wand was pointed at Snape and she knew what he was going to do. She didn’t have to kill him, or even hurt him. She could just stun him. She could’ve done it. But… she didn’t.

            There was a loud, resounding _crack_ that echoed in the small space.

            Snape and Voldemort were gone.

            The spells ceased instantly and they all looked round at each other. Lily hoped no one knew what she had done. But no one was accusing her. They didn’t know she let Voldemort escape. But she knew it.

            James tied up Peter and began dragging him out of the shack and down the stairs, without much concern for Peter’s grunts and moans as his body thumped and thudded along. Remus and Sirius followed him, as well as the four kids. Lily found Harry and quickly looked him over—he didn’t have a scratch. Relieved, she turned to Neville who didn’t get off so well. She smiled warmly at him and helped him along through the tunnel, back to Hogwarts. Neville was shaking, and he had a fair amount of blood streaming from the back of his head. He didn’t say anything for the duration of the trek through the tunnel, and Lily didn’t prod him.

            When they were out of the tunnel the sun had just dipped below the horizon, though the sky was still light. The red-haired boy, the girl and Harry were sprinting up to the castle.

            “Are you okay?” Lily asked Neville.

            He nodded and began walking on his own across the lawn. He took a few steps and promptly fainted, falling backward into Lily’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 10-chapter AU novella of mine that I'll be posting over the next few weeks (I'm new to this site so will be posting a lot for a while). Let me know what you think of Harry over the rest of this story because I've received mixed reviews :) Thanks for reading!


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